


Firefly: Slingshot

by Shawn Michel de Montaigne (ShawnMichel)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Gen, Joss Whedon - Freeform, Science Fiction, Western, spaceship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-29
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3250397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShawnMichel/pseuds/Shawn%20Michel%20de%20Montaigne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal and his crew are back. Always looking for a payday, Mal accepts a job from an old nemesis and occasional client: Badger. The payoff? More than he or his crew can imagine. But with such an astounding amount of scratch comes an equally astounding helping of danger. Read on!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Deader

**"It's a set-up, sir," said Zoe Washburne, binoculars to her eyes.** "It has to be."

 

   She crouched back down next to her captain, Malcolm Reynolds, who said, "Badger … _ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng_ …"

 

   "Yes, sir."

 

   The window they sat under was shattered; it comprised one of three looking out on the porch of a long-abandoned house. The other two were shattered as well. Beyond the porch and down splintered wooden stairs a dirt path cut between two large oak trees arcing over a gravel path.

 

   "Three men heading your way, Cap'n'," came Kaylee's voice over the radio. Static made it tough to hear what she was saying. "One at point, two behind, comin' in from the south—"

 

   _"South?"_ he said. "C'mon—"

 

   He unholstered his gun and came up slightly from his half crouch. Zoe had stood fully and gone ahead of him. "Kitchen," she said, flipping the safety on her pistol. "Back door."

 

   A moment, then: "It's Badger, sir …"

 

   "Got 'em in my sights …" said another voice over the radio. "Want 'em splattered, Captain?"

 

   Mal stood to get a look at the approaching men.

 

   "Hang on, Jayne," he ordered his gun-for-hire. "It looks like they're unarmed. Zoe?"

 

   "Second that."

 

   He pressed the radio button once more. "Jayne, get down here. Keep outta sight. If things get ugly, I want some backup …"

 

   "Aye, Cap," came the gruff reply. The radio clicked off. Mal rehooked it on his belt as the back kitchen door swung open.

 

   Badger strode in as if into his own domicile, as if he already knew what waited for him.

 

   He grinned. "Malcolm Reynolds ...”

 

   He looked around. "Nice little fixer-upper you got here. Thinking of settlin' down?" He gazed at Zoe. "Though I must say your choice of wife might be a little … how shall I put it?"

 

   "With a sock in it," said Zoe down the barrel of her pistol.

 

   Mal had his own aimed between Badger's eyes. "Best state your reason for being here, Badger. Your involvement in this, as I recall, was to be hands off."

 

   Badger shrugged happily. "Slight change o' plans. I'm not here to interfere. Not, at least, in any potentially costly manner. You can see I'm unarmed. My associates as well. I'm here to sweeten our original deal. Now why don't you lower your weapons and maybe we can do a little business—?"

 

   "The deal was six hundred for twenty caps fresh. That was the deal," said Mal. "That's the business we're here for. The caps have been delivered. Now where's my _goram_ money?"

 

   Badger smiled. "I don' like discussin' business down the barrel of a gun. So if you wouldn't mind …"

 

   "I don't see a big sack of loot, so no, I think I'll keep this here pistol aimed right between your beady eyes …"

 

   Badger raised his voice a little. "Kaylee, love, can ya hear me?"

 

   A moment of awkward silence; static; then—"Cap'n?"

 

   "It's Badger, honey," said Badger. He conspicuously thumbed a small round button on his coat near his mouth. "I assume you're sitting your pretty hiney at _Serenity_ 's controls?"

 

   Without lowering his weapon, Mal unclipped the radio at his hip, brought it up to his mouth. "Go ahead. The rodent wants to talk to you." To Badger he said, "Mind telling me how you hacked into our comm link?"

 

   Badger's smile didn't waver, and he didn't answer the question. "Kaylee, love, A-F-O—not zero, _O_ —1-dash-zero-zero-nine, enable. Got that?"

 

   "Uh … I … yeah. Cap'n?"

 

   Mal glowered down the barrel of his pistol, then brought the radio up to his mouth. "Do it." He pulled back the gun's hammer.

 

   Badger kept smiling.

 

   "Aye, Cap'n."

 

   A few seconds of silence.

 

   "Wow, Cap'n. Badger's got himself an Alliance bank account. Secured, too. Wow …"

 

   "How'd you manage that?" demanded Mal. "You workin' for the Alliance now?"

 

   Jayne cut in. "If he's workin' for the Alliance, we're sittin' ducks. Best we put 'im down and git—"

 

   "The side of beef speaks," chuckled Badger. "Jayne, my good man, you 'ent got the sense God gave a slug; so once again I'll advise everybody here to calm down. Can we do that? Are you truly a businessman, Captain, ready to deal with the big boys—or are you still nothin’ but a two-bit thief in a ten-gallon hat what runs from real opportunity when it comes round?"

 

   "I don't wear a hat 'ceptin' formal occasions," said Mal. "Now how long have you had access to _Serenity_ 's comm channel?"

 

   Zoe cocked her pistol.

 

   "Just now, actually," said Badger smugly. "Past three minutes or so. I have me an ace in me cockpit, a real professional—with all due respect to you, Kaylee, love. Are you still there?"

 

   "I'm here," _Serenity_ ’s engineer said shortly.

 

   "Please type in the address bar: L-I-8-backslash-backslash-I-9-N-4-semicolon-semicolon-backslash, and then hit enable again, love."

 

   "Cap'n?"

 

   Mal stared at the man smirking back at him. He slowly lowered his weapon, as did his second-in-command. "Go ahead."

 

   "But sir, viruses … We don't know—"

 

   "Do it.”

 

   "Okay … Don’t tell me I didn’t warn ya …"

 

   "Ready for some shootin'," said Jayne. "Just give the word."

 

   "Here goes nothin'," said Kaylee.

 

   There was a moment of silence.

 

   "Wow," she said. " _Wow_ , Cap'n …"

 

   "Report," he ordered.

 

   "Says here a transfer of _seven_ hundred has been made to … to _your_ account, Cap'n … Captain, you have an _Alliance_ _bank account_?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What is this, Badger? What's your game?"

 

   "I assure you it's no game," replied Badger, who took off his hat and ran his thumb along the brim. "Our agreement was six hundred. The extra hundred … well, consider it a bonus."

 

   "A bonus for what?" demanded Mal. "You'd cheat your own mama outta scratch if the opportunity presented itself; the 'bonus' comes with a price sure as hell is higher than a hundred."

 

   "Captain, Captain," said Badger reproachfully. "The big time awaits. You can either embrace this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, or you can go away, like you usually do, empty-handed. The choice is yours …"

 

   Mal swore under his breath. "I _knew_ it. Jayne? Jayne, you there? Come in …"

 

   "He's a little busy, methinks, bein' unconscious," said Badger, who put his hat back on, adjusted it. "With all due respect to lovely little Kaylee, my pilot is an expert tracker and sensor technician. You're surrounded, Captain. Now: shall we discuss my business opportunity?"

 

   Mal waited for the goons to disarm him and Zoe, but they seemed more for show than for bloodshed. Their boots were rooted to the floor. He holstered his weapon and nodded at Zoe to do the same.

 

   "I'm listening," he said.

 

   "That's a good boy," said Badger with a condescending grin. "You may yet be growin’, maturin’, becomin’ more than a second-rate garbage hauler. Let's find out." He thumbed the button on his coat. "Deader, you're up, love. Come on down here. We're waiting …"

 

   "On my way," came a woman's voice, followed by the click of radio silence. Mal thought she sounded just like his grandmother.

 

   Badger gazed at Zoe. "I haven't yet offered my condolences on the loss of your husband, lovely Zoe. I realize it's been a while—two years? Allow me to do that now." He tipped his hat and gave a short bow.

 

   "Thank you," said Zoe flatly.

 

   "I do not jest," he said with something approaching authenticity. "He was, if I am to believe the stories, a most gifted pilot. I mean—how else could that bucket of bolts have survived all it did? _Serenity_ 's crew should all be Reaver steaks, your skeletons adorning the flying radiation sewers they call ships. And his many escapes from the Alliance—so clever! They're almost legend along the Rim. Your husband, may the Verse receive his soul, was a real professional, a true expert. Wouldn't you agree?"

 

   "I would."

 

   "Since then _Serenity_ and her crew have virtually disappeared—no trace of your whereabouts. It took considerably more than seven hundred to find you, Captain. Seems you have been layin’ very low, takin’ honest, quick-payin' jobs, nothin’ too risky, nothin’ what would expose you or keep you in one place too long or bring you too close to the Core. I was quite surprised when my associates let me know you were willing to do business with them, even knowin’ I was in the background, and even after six hundred was offered as payment."

 

   "We've had enough adventure," grumbled Mal. "We like makin' an honest buck for an honest day's work. Flying right has kept the Alliance out of our hair. We get no trouble from them these days. As for you …"

 

   "I find that most interesting," interrupted Badger. "Most interesting indeed … Indeed, it's why I'm here today."

 

   Mal caught his drift right off. "Mr. Universe was helpful in more ways than one. You can stop this fishing expedition right now and tell me why you're trying to ruin a perfectly good payday—?"

 

   Badger nodded. "Very well. The extra hundred is a small—a very small—down payment on the next job I'd like you to do, Captain."

 

   "I'm so not excited to hear. It must be very high risk for you to slink out of the shadows like this."

 

   Badger shrugged. "When the price is right, to be sure. And it most definitely is in this case. So here's the deal. I need you to provide safe passage for a … well, let's say a _very_ important passenger."

 

   “No _goram_ way. 'Important' sure as I'm standin' on this dustball means wanted by the Alliance—the very Alliance who is leaving us alone now! And since you're such a student of our history, you should know the last time we picked up a fugitive we ended up making number one on their hit parade! Literally! They sent assassins after us, bounty hunters, suits in blue surgical gloves with eyes dead as slaughtered steer!"

 

   Badger nodded gravely and sympathetically. "My, my, yes! _So_ unfortunate! Tell me, Captain: How is our lovely psychic killing machine?"

 

   "Our? _Our_?" growled Mal. " _Our?_ I'm sorry; I'm having trouble recalling your whereabouts the past five years while we fought Reavers, the Alliance, trigger-fingered goons with the serial numbers sanded off … Pickin' those two up sowed no small measure of discord among _my_ —not 'our'—crew! Wash is dead; Shepherd Book is dead … Just where the Sam Hill were you in all that that makes you say _'our'_ ?"

 

   "Congeniality, Captain," snorted Badger, "was never one of your strong suits. Now—" he turned because at that the back porch door swung open. Through it marched an old, stout, gray-haired woman who strode up to his side, staring like a determined grandmother would at big mess left in her kitchen, staring straight at him, Mal—"I'd like you to meet someone …"

 

   She was dressed like a big-game hunter. The pistol holstered at her side was ridiculously oversized, practically a sawed-off shotgun. Its barrel was half as long as her thigh.

 

   She extended her hand without waiting for Badger to continue his introduction. "Tannis Brocius," she said, very businesswomanlike. "You can call me Deader, Captain Reynolds."

 

   "Your new pilot," said Badger.

 

**~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**


	2. Lichungyun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no goram way Mal is going to let Badger put one of his moles on his ship. But Tannis Brocius looks to be anything but a mole. The tension mounts as Badger talks Mal into his next job--one that seems impossible, not to mention impossibly dangerous. Read on!

**"My … _what?_ "**

 

   "You're going to need her, Captain," said Badger. "And since I'm backin' this next job with me hard-earned brass, it's not a choice, see?"

 

   "You're crazy if you think I'm going to allow one of your moles aboard my ship," said Mal. He glanced at the woman, who stared confidently back. "No offense meant, ma'am." He pointed out the back window. "That's _my_ ship; that's _my_ crew—"

 

   "You can bet your bippy I'm no mole, Captain Reynolds," said Tannis Brocius, interrupting Badger, who was about to charge in. "Let me clear the dust on that right now. The Limey understands that, don't you, son?"

 

   She gazed up at Badger, whose angry countenance melted into a grin. He stepped back from Mal's chest and put his arm around her shoulders.

 

   "Ah, Deader, love, I'm going to miss your apple pies and meat loaf …"

 

   She leaned her head playfully into his shoulder, gave his chest a couple hard pats. "For such a little guy you can sure pack it away …"

 

   "Apple pie?" asked Kaylee hopefully over the comm link.

 

   Jayne groaned over the static, then growled, "Meat loaf?" It was asked like a starving man would upon entering a kitchen after smelling it.

 

   Mal didn't bother clicking his own radio; he spoke right at Badger's coat button. "Jayne, get in here." To Badger he said, "That's of course assuming he's free to do so…?"

 

   "With my compliments," said Badger. "I just had him knocked out as a demonstration of Deader's superior tracking skills. He's been disarmed. I look forward to his bad breath. Please, Captain, by all means, have him join us."

 

   "On my way," said Jayne. He sounded ready for war.

 

   "Apple pie, Cap'n," said Kaylee over radio static.

 

   "With a big scoop of vanilla ice cream, sir," said Zoe, still staring at Badger.

 

   "Mmm. Heated. It gets all gooey …" said Kaylee.

 

   "Enough!" yelled Mal. "It should go without mentioning that we sure as hell don't have us apples or beef or anything approaching a real cream product anywhere aboard ship, so let's all get dressed and walk away from this imaginary culinary orgy right here and right now—"

 

   "But you could have, Captain," said Badger, his eyebrow lifting. "A real culinary orgy, mornin’, noon, and night. Every meal aboard ship, in perpetuity. Did I mention Deader is an ace cook as well as an ace pilot? Tell 'em, Deader."

 

   "I cooked for fourteen every day, Captain Reynolds, for nearly thirty years," she reported dutifully. "Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Ranch hands weren't picky, I gotta give 'em that; but I think they appreciated me good enough—"

 

   "Ranch hands?" interrupted Mal, regarding her with sudden interest. "You cooked for … ranch hands? … a ranch?"

 

   "El Questro, on Lilac. After my husband died I lost it when the _go tsao de_ Alliance foreclosed on it when I couldn't pay the taxes on it. They came in with their starched ties and black briefcases and made me sign their white papers with all the fine black print on it, black like their hearts; then they kicked me out and tore the house down and turned my land into a toxic landfill. That is, after they slaughtered all my cattle and chased off the help."

 

   "I was raised on a ranch," said Mal with something like happy reflection in his voice.

 

   "Then you must know what it felt like for me."

 

   "I'm sorry for your loss," he said.

 

   She took a step forward.

 

   "Listen, Captain, I don't mind cookin' for a crew. Yours is a small one, which'll make it easy. Cookin' takes me back to the ranch and some very fine days. I'm a good cook. Whatever you got onboard I can make into decent grub. And by the by, I can pilot your Firefly. You just watch me."

 

   Kaylee said over the comm link: "We could use a good pilot, Cap'n …"

 

   " _I'm_ a good pilot!" yelled Mal at Badger's coat button. "Zoe—tell her. You think I'm a good pilot, don't you? Don't you?

 

   His first officer gave him a pained smile. "You're … adequate, sir."

 

   Kaylee: "We love you, Cap'n … but I've had to rebuild the internal grav dampener three times now on account of your rough landings …"

 

   "And I've still got a black and blue ass from our set-down on Kerry two weeks ago," said Jayne, who spoke after slamming the kitchen door behind him. "I was sittin' on the crapper. Damn near shot my juevos into the hole."

 

   "Thanks for the imagery," said Mal, acknowledging his presence. "I think I'm done eating anything egg-related for, oh, eternity."

 

   Jayne ignored the barb. He rubbed the back of his neck and eyed the goons in front of him up and down, goons just larger than he was, and then brought his caustic glare to Badger. "You and I got a score to settle."

 

   Badger shrugged it off. "Let it be a lesson to you, mate. This next job, if ye get sloppy like you were just now, even once, you'll have to settle the score with me in the next life."

 

   "At least we'll be goin' to the same place!" Jayne snarled, and advanced on him. The goons grabbed his arms. "I'll enjoy watchin' you smoke a turd stogie!"

 

   "Jayne …" said his captain, waving him off. "Let's hear what the good Limey has to say before we do battle with him in the netherworld." To Badger he said: "Let's get on with this. Who's this passenger? Which Core world will we be risking our necks on? C'mon, spit it out …"

 

   "Chap's name is Chen. He's waiting for you on Londinium."

 

   "What the—?"

 

   "No _goram_ way …"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Londinium was the largest planet in the Alliance, the very seat of Parliament.

 

   "Why is it something tells me you're actually being serious?" murmured Mal.

 

   "Does _Serenity_ have a kitchen, Captain?" asked Tannis Brocius lightly.

 

   "Please tell me you're joking. Please. Or tell me you've got some magic invisibility shield we can use goin' in, 'cause there ain't no way we can get within a million miles of that planet without being tagged like a steer!" He had started quietly but finished yelling.

 

   "It'd be suicide," said Zoe.

 

   " _Shun-shen duh gao-wahn_ …" said Kaylee over the radio.

 

   He and Badger were engaged in a staring contest. Mal said in a low voice, "For a lousy hundred you'd have me risk our lives just to pick up a lousy two-bit outlaw? I _knew_ this was a set-up …"

 

   He broke off his stare and grumbled, "We’re outta here."

 

   He turned towards the door as Badger said, "Not an outlaw, a scientist. A defector, let's call 'im. And didn't you just say, Captain, that the Alliance leaves you alone? 'Out of your hair' are your exact words, I believe." An eyebrow rose.

 

   Mal spun about, got into his grill, an inch away. "They leave us alone because _we leave them alone!_ We stay _out_ of the Core. _Out_ , the opposite of _in_. Get it?"

 

   "I happen to believe it's more than that," responded Badger calmly, looking up into Mal’s steely gaze. "Mr. Universe did not go to the angels without taking his Alliance pound of flesh—which he gave to you." He cocked his head. "Tell me I'm wrong. Go on. I dare ye."

 

   Without breaking his stare, Mal said, "Kaylee, prep for takeoff. Zoe, Jayne …"

 

   "Are you really that stupid, Captain? For that pound of Alliance flesh and my hundred I can guarantee you an ace pilot, tracker, and cook—like gettin' three people for one, really—fresh food …" Badger pulled up even closer. Mal could smell Irish whiskey. "… and fuel for the journey. Oh, and did I mention—? If you complete the mission a clean, crisp, _untrackable_ 1.4…."

 

   "One-point-four what?" demanded Mal. "Best make it quick 'cause I'm itchin' to put 1.4 bullets right between those beady little eyes …"

 

   Badger grinned. He said, "One-point-four _million_ , Captain. D'ya hear me? One-point-four _million_. _Each_. All yours, tax- and Alliance-free."

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I'm still listening," Mal said. The surprise in his eyes had given him away. Badger smiled.

 

   "I think I just took a dump in my boots," said Jayne.

 

   The goons looked down in disgust at his feet. He shook off their grip. "What's the job?"

 

   "My exact question," said Mal. "We couldn't even fence the Lassiter for a twentieth that. How many of me and mine have to die? And I don't suppose payment will be made in a timely fashion; I'll have to live to a thousand before I see it all. Tell me I'm wrong."

 

   Irish whiskey. They were practically nose-to-nose, he and Badger …

 

   "You're wrong," said Badger.

 

   "You don't have 1.4 million. Not even in your grandest rodent dreams…."

 

   Badger didn't blink. "You got me, Captain. It's not me brass—not beyond, that is, the hundred and the extras. And it isn’t 1.4 million. It’s 1.4 million for _each_ of you."

 

   "What's your cut?"

 

   "Me? I get a finder's fee and shall we say a 'success fee' should you complete your mission. The amount …" He smirked. "That's none of your _hun dan_ business, is it?"

 

   Mal blinked first. He glanced at Zoe, then at Jayne. Both appeared very intrigued, if not anxious. Back at Badger, he said, "Londinium. Someone named Chen. Fuel and real bait—"

 

   "I almost forgot. I've paid for a complete overhaul of _Serenity_ , which, I believe, is in quite dire need of one. New grav dampeners, Kaylee, love, and a few necessary upgrades to boot."

 

   "Upgrades?" asked Kaylee. The radio static hid none of her interest.

 

   "That's _me_ brass, Captain," said Badger, poking a stiff finger into Mal's chest. "That's _all_ me, includin' your stay at a fine downtown Londinium swankaroo while _Serenity_ 's bein' worked on. All me, see? Complete the mission and every one of you can retire rich, rich, rich."

 

   "And just what is that mission?" demanded Mal. "Where do we have to haul this Chen, and why do I get the feeling I'm not going to like the answer?"

 

   "I don't see why. It's the planet Lichungyun," said Badger simply.

 

   Mal pulled up, looked away resignedly, and said, _"Tai-kong suo-yo duh shing-chiou sai-jin wuh duh pee-goo_. We're outta here."

 

   Jayne chuckled darkly. "I knew this was too _goram_ good to be true. I think I'm gonna kill you now, you _huh choo-shung tza-jiao duh tzang-huo_ …" He advanced on Badger—

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lichungyun did not exist. It was mythical, a planet referenced as those on Earth-That-Was might've referenced Eden or Shangri-la: a world of astonishing beauty, peopled by the peaceful and secluded who wanted nothing to do with the Verse at large, with war, and, most of all, with the Alliance. As such, it was a myth fully embraced by the Independents in the war. The Chinese symbol of Lichungyun had been emblazoned prominently on Independent uniforms and sidearms; soldiers commonly had it tattooed on their persons, including Mal, who thought of his own on his left bicep as he made for the front door.

 

   "It's real, Captain," said Badger to Mal's retreating back—that is, after dispassionately watching one of his henchmen bring a cast-iron skillet down on the back of Jayne's skull— _clang!_ —felling him instantly. "I seen it for meself. I just returned from there, in fact. No one knew Miranda existed. And yet you found it. And now the entire Verse knows about it."

 

   Mal stopped under the doorjamb, turned and gazed down at Jayne's still form. He shook his head as a parent might at a child who had pushed their patience to the limit. "You've _been_ to it," he demanded. "You've _been_ to Lichungyun."

 

   "A cold world," said Badger. "Not the sunny tropical paradise legends paint it as. It's big, too, twice the size of Earth-That-Was. A bit outside the Rim. Orbits along galactic north-south, see—" he drew a vertical circle in the air—"which has helped to keep it from Alliance 'scopes. Deader's got a wagon full of photos and telemetry. You can verify the particulars later."

 

   "A planet that large would set off every grav detector the Alliance has," said Zoe, "even with an eccentric orbit. Just how far outside the Rim is it?"

 

   "Twenty-two hundred an' twenty-five AU, as the galactic crow flies," said Badger lightly.

 

   Mal blinked. Zoe's mouth fell open.

 

   " _Serenity_ can't make a voyage that far," protested Kaylee. "We'd run outta food and fuel before we got even a hundredth of the way!"

 

   "Hence the upgrades, love," said Badger to his coat button. "And you'll have plenty of food, believe me."

 

   "Believe you? _You?_ " bellowed Mal. "Surely you must be smokin' something found on the side of a _goram_ ditch! There's nothing out there! _Nothing!_ "

 

   "You're wrong," said Badger. "The wagon doesn’t lie."

 

   "A wagon can be tampered with."

 

   "Faith, Captain. It's time ye got some, don't ye think?"

 

   "Faith in who? _You?_ You _are_ smoking something! Even with a hot burn, it'd take us—" he did a quick calculation and didn't believe the number—"well, it'd take a damn long time to get there!"

 

   "Years," answered Badger. "Again, hence the upgrades. Faith, Captain. That's what I'm talkin' about. Faith in something bigger than you and me and the payoff and the perks. Something larger than the Alliance itself."

   "This doesn't sound like the Badger I know and loathe," said Zoe, studying the man before her curiously.

 

   "My men came with me unarmed," said Badger. "My ship is completely vulnerable. If you wanted, you could destroy her. That's a demonstration of _my_ faith. Where's yours, Captain?"

 

   "I have faith in only one thing, and that's a good wage for a day's job done," snarled Mal.

 

   "Faith is what took me to Lichungyun. It's what brought me Deader. It's what made me think of you for this job. And—” he got up close again, this time with a warm, completely disconcerting smile—“it's going to be the thing that saves you in the end."

 

   He turned and gave Tannis Brocius a big hug.

 

   "Thank you for everything, Deader, love. I will miss you. Godspeed …"

 

   He released her after she gave his cheek a kiss and stern instructions on taking better care of himself. Stepping uncaringly over Jayne's limp form, he made for the back kitchen door, his goons dutifully following. He turned before walking out it, said, "I know you'll take the job, Captain. That's the faith I have in you."

 

   It appeared he was going to continue, then shrugged happily and said: "The wagon's got more specific directions. I suggest you study 'em before departing. They'll be of service to you. Best of luck, Captain."

 

   Zoe turned to look at Mal, who appeared utterly perplexed.

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**


	3. Take-Off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serenity's new pilot can talk the talk, but can she walk the walk? Read on!

**"Nice little Firefly you got here, Captain."**

 

   Tannis Brocius stood at the landing of the entry hatch, hands on her hips.

 

   "Cargo bay kept clean, no visible rust … Hell, I used to tell Pa we shoulda kept the old girl instead of tradin' it in on that lunky Stardriver …"

 

   Mal turned to watch her appraising his ship. Jayne was just entering, sniper rifle slung to his back. He was rubbing the back of his head and swearing richly under his breath.

 

   "Well, thank you, ma'am, I'd like to think I take care of her …"

 

   "Just Deader," said Tannis. "No ma'amin' me; I'm one of your crew now. Order me around like you do the rest. Speakin' of, where are they? I'd like to meet 'em."

 

   He was about to answer when Jayne, drawing near, said, "Next time I see that _goram_ lizard I'm gonna gut 'im crotch to sternum!"

 

   "An elevated six-oh deployment was sheer stupidity," snorted Deader, turning to look disapprovingly at him. "I had you pegged within ten seconds, easy peezy." She patted his bunched forearms as he glared down at her. "Best scrape the rust off your trainin' if you want to see this mission through, son."

 

   "I ain’t your son, Grandma," he snarled, "and I sure as hell don't remember askin' your opinion of my snipin' skills!"

 

   She gazed up at him with a simple smile. "You don't _have_ snipin' skills. That's what I'm tryin' to tell you." She gave Mal a side glance. "Not too bright, this 'un, is he?"

 

   Jayne growled, advanced a step—

 

   The captain's hand smacked flat on his chest. "Back off. Get the ship prepped."

 

   Jayne glowered at him and then down at her. Deader stared back without fear. "We ain't done, Grandma," he said between gritted teeth. He pushed Mal's arm out of the way and stomped off, cursing even more poisonously.

 

   "More bullsquat than bullhorns," she said, staring after him. "I can't imagine one like yourself keepin' him around unless he's got some use…."

 

   Mal couldn't help the grin that creased his face as he glanced at her. He found himself wanting to like her.

 

   "I search my soul on that question daily," he said. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to take a long look at the wagon—"

 

   "Cap'n?"

 

   He gazed up. Kaylee was smiling down on them. Without waiting, she hurried down the stairs. She was covered in engine grease, her hair pulled back.

 

   "Deader," said Mal, "Kaylee Frye, er, _Tam_. Kaylee, this is Deader …"

 

   " _Serenity_ 's new pilot," announced Deader in a dead-certain tone of voice. Kaylee glanced at Mal as though unsure how she should respond. Deader extended a hand, which she took unsurely.

 

   "Well," said Mal, "if you don't mind, I'll be the final judge of that."

 

   "Of course, Captain," said Deader, who brought her grandmotherly gaze to Kaylee. "I don't believe I've ever met a prettier ship's engineer before, even one covered in grease like you are! My goodness gracious, Kaylee, you are just a _doll!_ "

 

   Kaylee blushed richly, which made the smudges on her cheeks stand out more. "Why, thank you, ma'am …"

 

   "Deader, love. Just Deader. I always told Pa that lady engineers were better'n menfolk. They just have a much better feel about the inner workin's of a ship. Menfolk concern themselves with power n’ such; ladies concern themselves with _lovin'_ the ship along. The latter's better," she said surely, patting Kaylee's hands affectionately.

 

   "Yes, ma'am … er, I mean, Deader," smiled Kaylee, who, Mal thought, would never win at poker. She took everything at face value.

 

   "Yeah, well," he said, "shall we lavish love on getting this boat back in the sky?"

 

   He didn't wait for them to acknowledge him, but walked around them, mounting the stairs soon after.

 

   He heard the old woman whisper something, and Kaylee snicker in response. He heard them break apart. He didn't look back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

She sat in the pilot's chair like she owned it. "Here—" she said, and flipped something out of her vest pocket at him. He had taken the co-pilot's seat. He had sat there purposely. He caught it, surprised, and then, recognizing it, plugged it into a port.

 

   "All aboard, Captain?"

 

   He looked up from the wagon's data. There appeared to be loads of it. He pressed a button on the console. "Zoe? You in?"

 

   "Yes, sir," came the short reply. "Be up in a bit."

 

   "All present and accounted for. Mostly."

 

   "Mostly?" asked Deader. "We’re waiting for others? I'd like to meet 'em before we take off, if you don't mind, Captain."

 

   "That was just a little joke," he said. "Truth is, my other crew are off-world, including the ship's doctor."

 

   "The Tams, yes," said Deader. "I couldn't believe their story when I heard it. Poor dears …"

 

   Mal studied her. If she was a mole working for Badger, then she was the best he'd ever come across. She seemed so genuine as to be unreproachable. He watched her carefully as she went through the pre-flight checks. She seemed to know what she was doing, at least as well as Wash ever did.

 

   "Poor dears …" he answered, only slightly sarcastically. "We need to fetch those poor dears before we go flyin' off on this 'mission.' They're on Jiangyin, so let's set course and be on our way."

 

   Her countenance darkened thoughtfully. "Neighbors Hera, doesn’t it? Jiangyin?”

 

   He nodded.

 

   “This ol' Firefly is named after the valley on Hera, isn’t it? Serenity Valley? That's what the Limey told me. Have you been back to Hera since the war, Captain?"

 

   "A couple times," he replied quietly.

 

   "Pa and I knew the war was lost when that valley was taken," she said, shaking her head sadly.

 

   Her hands flew over the instruments as if they had a mind of their own. She stopped to stare at him, a stern mother gazing at one of her own, and pointed a finger. "You ain't got nothin' to be ashamed of, Captain. Don't you ever forget it."

 

   Before he could answer, fighting the rising sense that he had met his match in this woman, she turned and punched a button and barked, "Kaylee, lamb, I'm readin' a minus three and change on the profile intake nozzle. Is that normal?"

 

   "Checking …" came Kaylee's quick reply. Then: "We're shiny here. It runs thin now and again … nothin' to worry about…."

 

   "Roger that," said Deader, and pressed the button again.

 

   Mal watched as the old woman's hands pranced over the console like a concert pianist's. "Here we go—" she announced suddenly, and hit the ignition switch. _Serenity_ 's mains grumbled to life. A thin, rising whine piggybacked the grumble, one that always made Mal feel good. She punched a button to her side that he (or Wash, for that matter) never used, and one he actually had no idea what its function was, and said in a commanding voice: "Log takeoff: time: fourteen hundred twenty-six hours, Beaumonde local—"

 

   She punched the button again, then looked at him with a sure stare.

 

   "Ready, Captain?"

 

   He had completely forgotten about the display screen of wagon data. He nodded nervously. "Uh … yeah … sure …"

 

   She grasped the wheel with both hands, eased it back. _Serenity_ lifted off from the planet's surface evenly, almost imperceptibly. She eased the ship forward, gaining altitude gently, accelerating so smoothly that Mal was about to stand to look over her shoulder to make sure the ship was gathering enough speed when she punched that mysterious button again and barked, "Atmo launch sequence confirmed: three kilos per second in three … two … one … mark."

 

   _Serenity_ slipped out of Beaumonde's atmosphere like she was greased.

 

   Deader punched the mystery button again: "Heading: Jiangyin. ETA: four days, twenty-seven minutes. Crew pickup: the Tams. Lookin' forward to meetin’ 'em." She punched the button again, then several more, including one on the pilot's wheel. Mal knew what those were—the autopilot sequence. She turned her head to look at him.

 

   "Mind showin' me to my quarters, Captain?" she asked pleasantly. "I'd like to shower and get changed, if you don't mind."

 

   He blinked blankly and stood with her. "Quarters…? Quarters…?" He came back to himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't know we'd be taking on new crew …"

 

   He thought then of Inara. She was on Bellerophon, at some sort of Companion "retreat," one that was apparently a mandated event. He was surprised (and feeling not just a little guilty) that he had completely forgotten about her when thinking of his crew and who they were. She had been gone over three months now. Her shuttle was here, attached to _Serenity_ ; Mal had dropped her off personally, assured by her that _Serenity_ would be safe entering atmo and setting down. Companions, it was clear, held large sway over Alliance law enforcement.

 

   Deader was watching him patiently.

 

   "You can use one of our shuttles," he said. "I'd forgotten to tell you about another crew member—"

 

   "The Companion," answered Deader. "Good business decision, Captain, havin' her aboard, if you ask me. She a nice girl?"

 

   Mal grinned weakly. "She tries."

 

   "Don't listen to him. She's an angel," said Zoe, who entered the bridge. "We've all missed her, even the captain."

 

   Deader studied him with a scrutinizing eye—but only for a moment. It only took a moment. In that moment it seemed she plumbed the entire history between him and Inara Serra. She gave a knowing sigh and nod, then glanced at Zoe and said, "I'd be happy to bunk in the other shuttle. Zoe, would you mind takin’ me there?"

 

   Zoe, who was smirking.

 

   "Go on," said Mal irritably. "It's as good a place as any …"

 

   "I'll be back in two hours, Captain," said Deader as she left the bridge. "I want to do some bridge diagnostics, get a feel for _Serenity_ … and then I'll cook us up some grub."

 

   Mal stared at her retreating back. There weren't too many folks who could surprise him these days, but this woman most certainly had.

 

   He sat in the pilot's chair and absently fingered the formerly mysterious button. The wagon data on the display on the co-pilot's console glared up at no one.

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**

 


	4. Trust Protocol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deader surprises everyone when she reveals her knowledge of another new crewmember who has been a big help to Kaylee in the engine room. Read on!

**He was absorbed in the wagon's data when Kaylee appeared over his shoulder.**

 

   "So is it real, then? Lichungyun?"

 

   He shrugged. "This is data on a planet, all right. Books of it. It looks consistent enough … Hell, I don't know. Look at this—"

 

   He gruffly punched a console button. The holoprojector came to life. Kaylee exhaled softly. Zoe had come up quietly behind them both. She stared without commenting.

 

   The image floating placidly over the co-pilot's console was of a planet. Most of it was covered in virgin-white clouds, but the surface peeked through here and there, gray-green here, snowcapped there, the cerulean blue of ocean in random breaks.

 

   "It's beautiful …" whispered Kaylee.

 

   "It's big," remarked Zoe, who crowded in to look at the data on the screen just beneath the holo. "One point nine eight times the mass of Earth-That-Was."

 

   "Any holos from the surface, Cap'n?" asked Kaylee.

 

   Mal poked a finger at a blinking light floating next to the holo and the image changed.

 

   Mountains. Lots of mountains.

 

   "Many are ten kilometers or higher," said Zoe. "Beautiful …"

 

   "And these valleys," remarked Kaylee. "So green … Show us more, Cap'n' …"

 

   Mal jammed a finger into the holo. It disappeared.

 

   "Hey …" both Zoe and Kaylee said at the same time.

 

   He turned in his seat. Jayne had entered the bridge and had just gotten a glimpse of it when it vanished. "That our port o' payoff?”

 

   Mal stood. He appraised all three as one does idiots who just can't understand a simple point. In a similar tone of voice he said, "You don't get it, do you?"

 

   They looked at him blankly.

 

   He turned and punched the button again. The planet reappeared.

 

   "You three don't see any problem?"

 

   His crewmembers gazed at the image.

 

   "It's slightly out of focus?" asked Zoe.

 

   "It's too cloudy?" guessed Kaylee. "Bet the weather there is terrible …"

 

   Jayne, who Mal had gotten used to giving the stupidest answer to any question, surprised the hell out of him, because he said:

 

   "It's too damn bright. A planet that far away from its primary should be a dim bulb, even at the distance that holo was taken."

 

   "Ex-Exactly," said Mal, giving him a double-take. "We're talking about a world over _two hundred_ _billion goram_ _miles_ from its primary, and that primary isn't much brighter than Sol! That 'world,' if it even exists, should be one giant, dark ice ball!"

 

   "How far did Badger say it was from its primary again?" asked Zoe.

 

   "Twenty-two hundred twenty-five _shee-niou_ AU!”

 

   Zoe did the mental math. "Yep. More than two hundred billion miles."

 

   "Any questions?" Mal glared at each of them in turn.

 

   "I got one," came a grandmotherly voice directly behind Jayne. Jayne turned, growled.

 

   Deader had dressed in an olive-green worker's one-piece jumper. She stepped in front of him, unafraid.

 

   "Have you people considered that this mission has something to do with the fact that Lichungyun is twenty-two hundred twenty-five AU from its primary and yet shines like its bathing in Goldilock's bathtub? Well, have you?"

 

   Mal pointed at the projection. "A world that size and brightness would've been discovered by Alliance 'scopes before the colony ships even arrived!"

 

   Deader nodded calmly. "Think, Captain, about what you're saying."

 

   "I _am_ thinking!"

 

   "Clearly you're not."

 

   Before he could yell in response, which he was about to do, she cut across him with, "There's a reason why Alliance 'scopes haven't spotted Lichungyun, or why their gravity detectors haven't discovered a mass that size in orbit. That reason is why we're going there."

 

   She stared at them, one by one. "It's time to clear out the cobwebs, ladies and gentlemen.”

 

   She clapped her hands together and rubbed them excitedly. "Now—who's hungry for some grub?"

 

   All hands shot up like little schoolchildren after being asked who would like to take the rest of the day off and play. All hands except Mal's. Zoe and Kaylee saw this and lowered theirs unsurely. Jayne's hand was stiff as a post and poking into the ceiling. He glanced at Mal, said, "What? I'm hungry."

 

   Deader went to leave to the kitchen, but Mal stood and came around her and stopped her. "No. Before I take this boat anywhere I want explanations!"

 

   "Tell you what, Captain," said Deader, gazing up at him, "I'll fix us all some dinner and then you and I can sit down with the wagon and with anyone else who's interested and I'll go over it. Deal?"

 

   He felt like he was losing control. It was with that fear that he came right up against her and, glowering, said, "Fine. But you best remember who's captain here. Do I make myself clear?"

 

   She nodded. "Like the Soyuchong River." She looked intimidated—not at all.

 

   "Fine," said Mal, trying to grab a little of that captainly feeling back and having no luck. "Fine."

 

   Deader turned and smiled at Kaylee. "After dinner I'd like to meet Lenore. I assume she doesn't join the crew for dinner—?"

 

   That caught everyone off guard. As a unified chorus they said: "How do you know about Lenore?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lenore was Mr. Universe's love bot. They'd gotten married shortly before the Alliance murdered him and left her behind. Mr. Universe had planted last-minute instructions to Mal in her considerable memory as to the existence of a secondary transmitter, one he then used to send the grisly holo of a scientist in her last moments on Miranda as she explained the horrifying results of the Alliance's social-engineering attempt on that world. It was the Alliance's social engineering that created the Reavers. The scientist's last act in the Verse, caught on camera, was shooting at the Reavers who quickly overcame her and slaughtered her. Mal, after beating down the Alliance assassin sent to fetch River Tam and kill the crew of _Serenity_ , sent that holo out to the entire Verse, on loop. It very nearly toppled the Parliament.

 

   Nearly. But nearly means very little to a man like Malcolm Reynolds.

 

   He needed insurance. And he knew Mr. Universe would not let him down. He took a guess: Where would Mr. Universe squirrel away a Get Out of Jail Free card?

 

   Lenore.

 

   The Alliance had left Mr. Universe's love bot alone. Her particular model wasn't considered particularly high tech; and as Mal studied her the day they brought her aboard, he thought that odd. Why would a tech geek as brilliant as Mr. Universe go with anything less than the very best?

 

   Kaylee had taken Lenore by the hand to the Engine Room to look her over. She glowered at Mal at his suggestion that they cut her open to find out what's what, leading Lenore quickly away before any cruder suggestions were offered, of which Jayne had plenty.

 

   Lenore had said nothing to that point.

 

   Days passed before Mal, growing impatient, decided to stop in the Engine Room to get an update. He held up at the entrance.

 

   Lenore was there in coveralls, spindle wrench in hand, standing over the primary core. She turned her head, looked at him. Her cheek was splotched with engine grease.

 

   "Captain Reynolds," she said sweetly. "Greetings. What can I do you for?"

 

   Her actions weren't jerky, as they once were, but quicker, more fluid and lifelike. She blinked and waited for his answer.

 

   "Kaylee," he mumbled, shocked. Then, louder, "Kaylee. Where ... where is Kaylee?"

 

   "Taking a nap," answered Lenore, getting back to work.

 

   "Taking a na—" said Mal, blinking and shaking his head. "Er, what ... what are you doing there—?"

 

   He approached.

 

   "As per Kaylee's instructions," said Lenore brightly, "I am fine-tuning the inertial dampener polarizer unit. It is desperately tedious work, so it's perfect for someone like me."

 

   "You—?"

 

   Alarmed, Mal turned to look at what she was doing.

 

   The dampener coil was partially exposed, along with one strand of fiber trunk, which had been split at the end. Tiny, almost invisible fiber strands, lit at the ends, gave the impression of tiny stars floating next to the unit itself.

 

   "I have improved efficiency at this stage by 1.53093 percent, with only three percent of the fiber trunk realigned—"

 

   "Stop," he ordered, feeling immediately guilty for saying it so harshly. "Stop," he repeated, this time softly—soft _er_. He noted the look of sweet curiosity on her face as she waited for him.

 

   "I appreciate ..." He was talking to a bot, he kept telling himself. A _bot_. "A nap, you say? In her quarters?"

 

   "Yes, sir," she said crisply.

 

   He turned to leave, turned back around. "Don't do any more work until I say so, okay? Just ... relax."

 

   A bot. It's a bot.

 

   "I will wait right here, Captain," she said cheerfully.

 

 

 

 

 

 

_"Kaylee!"_

 

   He stood at her quarters and yelled down. Her hatch door was open.

 

   "Cap'n?" she called out. "What's wrong?"

 

   She appeared suddenly at the ladder, looking up at him.

 

   "Why is the love bot mucking around with my engine?" he shouted, pointing a stiff finger aft.

 

   Kaylee scaled the ladder before answering. She chuckled mischievously. “That’s a _very_ interesting question.” When he didn’t laugh, she serioused up. "Ah, c'mon, Captain. She's aces in there—and she has a name. It's _Lenore_. Do you really think I'd let her do any harm to _my_ engine?" She poked a finger into his chest.

 

   "As I recall, you were to find out what she knew about the Alliance, what Mr. Universe had told her, or uploaded into her ... or whatever!"

 

   "I bet he did a lot of 'uploadin' ' into her," said Jayne, coming around the corner. He leered.

 

   Mal ignored him. Kaylee shook her head.

 

   "Well?" asked Mal.

 

   "She's got something, that much I've worked out," said Kaylee.

 

   "And?"

 

   "Problem is," she continued, "she's got a trust protocol. She won't tell us nothin' before she trusts us. I've tried, Cap'n, believe me. My poppa taught me the best way to earn trust is to give it ... so I let her help me with the engine the other day. A quick tuner. She was brilliant. I started giving her more serious jobs, jobs that demonstrate that I trust her. I think it's helping ..."

 

   "Sounds like a big waste of time to me," commented Jayne. "I got me a big Bowie knife; let's just cut 'er open and dig out the info that way."

 

   "Yeah, murdering her will inspire all sorts of trust," said Kaylee flatly.

 

   "It ain't murder, she's a machine," he retorted.

 

   "In any event, I don't want her workin' on my boat without you telling me first!" said Mal.

 

   "Fine," grumbled Kaylee, who stalked off back towards the Engine Room.

 

   "Well, c'mon ..." she gestured, irritated.

 

   "Why?"

 

   "You probably told her to stop workin' on the IDPU. You need to tell her to start again, or she'll just stand there like a statue. I told her your orders are top priority ... C'mon ..."

 

   "At least someone on this crew has got it right," he murmured, and followed her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lenore wouldn't reveal what Mr. Universe had locked behind the trust protocol until many months passed. Mal had begun entertaining the notion that there wasn't a trust protocol, nor was there any life-saving or potentially profitable information in Lenore's memory. He began entertaining notions about where he could ditch her.

 

   He was shocked when it wasn't Kaylee who informed him that the bot had revealed the Get Out of Jail Free card, but Jayne.

 

   And it was very much indeed a Get Out of Jail Free card.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deader fed them macaroni and cheese. There were spare veggies from the last job on Greenleaf; she steamed up some asparagus and concocted something that tasted remarkably like butter to put on them. She seemed as cheerful as a grandmother doing all this, like she loved being in the kitchen and sharing in all the talk that went on there. They had all gathered in anticipation. Mal too.

 

   Deader was surprised when Lenore joined the crew for dinner. More surprises: Lenore had cleaned up and now wore a pink dress. Deader thought she caught the whiff of perfume on her. Lenore sat between Kaylee and Jayne. Jayne—who held the seat out for her and pushed it in when she sat. "Thank you, Mr. Cobb," she said. "You are such a gentleman."

 

   No one seemed shocked at this, or even lifted their heads to watch. Deader stared, astonished. Neither Lenore nor Jayne noticed.

 

   Yet another surprise: Lenore ate just like a human being. She made conversation as well, behaving, to Deader's estimation, just like any well-behaved young woman should. She couldn't keep from praising her, to which Lenore replied sweetly, "Why, thank you, ma'am. Kaylee and the others have been most helpful in learning human customs and mannerisms and ways of speech, Jayne especially."

 

   At that, Jayne beamed like a young schoolboy.

 

   "I know," said Mal, correctly appraising the disbelieving look on Deader's face. "It's enough to make you question reality."

 

   "I got me manners when I want 'em," responded Jayne in his own defense. "Just ain't no sense with most folk."

 

   The meal, Mal had to admit, as simple as it was, was delicious. He couldn't even tell the synthetic protein Deader had used to make the macaroni was such. Normally it tasted like unsweetened toothpaste. His new pilot made enough for everyone to have seconds. They must've felt like he did, because they all took them. He did, too.

 

   "I didn't have time to bake up a dessert," she offered. "Maybe tomorrow."

 

   It was a brilliant way to wiggle her way into everybody's hearts, he considered. Go through their stomachs. Deader told jokes and made friendly banter with everyone, even Jayne, who, with this meal, seemed to soften to her considerably. He even helped her clean up after. "Lemme help you there, Grandma," he said, gathering dishes.

 

   "You remind me of Bull," she said to him as they stood over the sink.

 

   "Who's Bull?" he asked, drying a plate.

 

   "Strongest damn hand we had. Could toss bails of hay over his head into the hayloft. Real name was Norman, but everyone called him Bull. Was a browncoat. Got shot up in the war."

 

   Dishes done, Jayne escorted Lenore back to her quarters (Shepherd Book's old digs, as it turned out) per her insistence. She still had work to do, she said, excusing herself politely, and wanted to change back into her work clothes.

 

   The others gathered in the bridge. Deader dropped into the co-pilot's seat and punched up the wagon. The holo of Lichungyun floated peacefully above the console. Jayne appeared soon after.

 

   "This is Lichungyun from two million miles," said Deader. "And this is Lichungyun at two million and one miles ..."

 

   She punched a button.

 

   The holo disappeared.

 

   The crew of _Serenity_ gaped.

 

   "No gravimetrics, no light, no temperature readings, nothin'," said Zoe, who had leaned over Deader's right shoulder to peruse the data. "Like it isn't there. Like nothin's out there but empty space."

 

   "Remember, folks," Deader went on, "this is a world nearly twice the size of Earth-That-Was, making it easily the largest Earth-like world in this system that we or anyone else know of."

 

   "So it's being shielded," said Mal. He had to admit to feeling fascinated. "How? The Alliance doesn't have anything near the technology required to do something like that ..."

 

   "That's why we're going to Londinium," said Deader. "Our special passenger can tell you. He's a scientist. He, along with other Lichungyun scientists, have figured out how the Lens works."

 

   "The 'Lens'?" said the crew of _Serenity_.

 

   "The device that shields Lichungyun from detection. It was discovered shortly after the first colonists landed." She turned and stared at Mal, then at the others. "A device that was made, believe it or not, by aliens."

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**

 


	5. More on the Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more Mal hears of this "mission" Badger has hired Serenity to go on, the more he thinks it looks like suicide. Read on!

**"Aliens," snorted Jayne.** "What, some bug-eyed little green men, them sorta aliens?"

 

   Deader nodded. "Them sort of aliens."

 

   Jayne snorted again and glanced at the others, who kept their peace.

 

   Among them, it was Zoe who spoke first. "How can you be sure aliens built it?"

 

   "The captain said it: the Alliance sure as hell doesn't have near the technology to build something like it, the Lens."

 

   "You've seen it?" asked Mal.

 

   Deader nodded. "I've been aboard it. The Limey, too."

 

   "I presume the wagon has data on it?" he asked.

 

   She shook her head.

 

   "Let me guess," Mal said. "The good, peaceable folk on Lichungyun don't want the Alliance gettin' wind of it."

 

   "Precisely," said Deader, looking up over her shoulder at him.

 

   "Faith, Captain?" said Zoe.

 

   Mal, his arms crossed, murmured, _"Tai-kong suo-yo duh shing-chiou sai-jin wuh duh pee-goo."_

 

   "You said the ... the ... Lichungyunians have figured out how the Lens works ..." said Zoe.

 

   "That they have," answered Deader. "And they call themselves Yuns, with a long 'u'."

 

   Zoe gazed meaningfully at her captain, who said without looking back, "I'm way ahead of you. The military applications of a device like that would be ..."

 

   "Exactly," said Deader.

 

   "Huh," said Mal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"It's a shade over hundred square miles in area," said Deader. "More an ellipse than a circle. Looks like a big eye piece, hence the name 'the Lens.' All sorts of workin's inside. The Yuns haven't finished mappin' out its guts, and they've known about it for decades now!"

 

   "And this Chen guy we're pickin' up," said Mal after a sip of coffee (the group had all left the bridge back to the galley where Deader brewed some up fresh), "this 'defector' ... he's some sort of whiz-bang scientist who knows all about it and needs a lift back home ... for what purpose?"

 

   "He's a defector from his own people?" asked Kaylee. She looked concerned.

 

   Deader grinned. "Ignore what the Limey said about him. He's a mole. He works in the Alliance government, the Division of Defense. Done so goin' on five years now, if Badger's got it right, and I've no reason to doubt the Limey's intel. If he's a 'defector,' it's from the Alliance."

 

   "Working defense ..." said Zoe thoughtfully. "He's probably got a whole saddlebag full of secrets." She gazed at Mal. "Secrets the Alliance doesn't want known."

 

   "Not to mention the secrets he's got about this Lens thing," piped up Jayne. "I imagine the bounty on his head'll be sky high."

 

   "Probably something in the range of millions," said Mal. He glanced at Deader. "That sound about right?"

 

   "I ain't gonna lie to ya, Captain. This is a very risky mission. But if we can get out of the Core ..."

 

   "We can't outrun Alliance warships!" cried Kaylee before Mal could yell the same thing. "They'll have us dead to rights before we even break atmo!"

 

   "Upgrades, lamb," said Deader reassuringly, patting her hand. "Don't you worry about your girl. She'll be plenty fast enough to scoot right by those big green greasy pyramids, assumin' of course they even detect us."

 

   "I was going to ask about that," said Mal. "I'd much prefer to slip by unnoticed than subject my ship to the stress of a hot burn, no matter how newfangled Badger's upgrades might be."

 

   Deader eyed him critically.

 

   "He's changed, you know," she said. "I know you don't want to believe that, Captain, but he has."

 

   "That ain't likely," said Jayne, chortling into his coffee. "Once a rodent, always a rodent."

 

   "Agreed," said Zoe.

 

   "I'll believe it when I see it," grumbled Mal.

 

   "Fair enough," said Deader. She looked up, for Lenore had re-entered the galley and stood now in the entrance.

 

   "Come have some coffee," offered Kaylee, smiling.

 

   "If it's all right with you, Kaylee," she said, "I would like to recharge now. The IDPU realignment has been completed."

 

   "Sleep," said Kaylee. "Recharge is 'sleep.' And thank you, Lenore. I appreciate all your hard work."

   "I'll walk you to your quarters," said Jayne, who had stood like a perfect gentleman when Lenore entered. Deader couldn't get over the transformation that came over him whenever she was around, or the lack of surprise from the others towards his behavior.

 

   Lenore smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Mr. Cobb, that would be nice."

 

   "Well ... goodnight, everyone," said Jayne awkwardly once he got to her side.

 

   "Sleep well, Mr. Cobb," said Mal with a smirk as he drained the rest of his coffee.

 

   "I ... I will," said Jayne. Lenore took his arm. "Thanks ... Uh, I mean, thank you ..."

 

   He and Lenore disappeared out of the galley.

 

   Deader shook her head in disbelief. "If I'm not mistaken, Captain, that man is in love."

 

   "I think it's sweet," remarked Kaylee.

 

   "He's certainly lost interest in his usual fare," said Mal.

 

   "Which is what?" asked Deader.

 

   "Most Rim worlds have cat houses," said Mal. "Jayne's probably got a four-figure tab at a dozen of 'em, at least."

 

   Kaylee said, proudly, "He hasn't been to one in over a year now."

 

   "He's been payin' 'em off, too," said Mal with a chuckle. "As I understand it, he's only got two left. He asked for an advance a couple weeks ago when we set down on Jiangyin, told me not to tell no one what he was doin’."

 

   Kaylee snickered. "It's sweet," she said.

 

   "It's beyond all rational comprehension," said Mal.

 

   "I know you don't trust me yet, Captain, but is it too early to ask what secrets Mr. Universe stored in her?" said Deader.

 

   Mal gazed at his new pilot. A tense moment passed. Zoe, who'd been silent all this time, said, "I don't see the harm at this point, sir. I have a feeling Badger has probably sussed out some of 'em already. It's likely why he came lookin' for us."

 

   "More or less ..." said Deader. "More or less ..."

 

   "So why ask if you already know?" demanded Mal.

 

   "I suspect her secrets will line neatly up with Chen's," she said.

 

   "Some of 'em probably will," said Mal. "Certainly not all. And that's all I'm willing to share at this point. Suffice it to say that Lenore's presence aboard this boat has kept the Alliance off our backs. That and us layin' low, stayin' out of their hair. They know they screwed up when they left her alone after killin’ Mr. Universe, and they know we have her. Or they suspect as much."

 

   "What do you suppose they'll do when they catch us headin' to Londinium?" asked Zoe.

 

   "I guess we'll find out when we get there," said Mal. "But I don't doubt every scope will have us prominently displayed."

 

   He stared at Deader, who stared back. "What concerns me is I don't believe that's what you consider to be the 'risky' part of the mission. Am I right?"

 

   "That's right," said Deader simply. "The risk will come when we try to leave."

 

   "But I thought you just said that all our upgrades will protect us," said Kaylee, staring. "All sortsa fancy shielding n’ such ..."

 

   "Gettin' out of the Core will be our biggest test," Deader said. "Alliance are scattered everywhere. _Serenity_ 's upgrades will make her a speedy little mare, but Rimward Alliance cruisers will have a big head start on us, if it came that, which, truth tell, it probably will. By the time we get that far out they'll have had plenty of time to match our velocity ..."

 

   "Which, I presume, leaves us with this 'shielding' that'll make us invisible to them." said Mal.

 

   Deader's silence told Mal all he needed to know.

 

   "That's the catch, isn't it?" he said.

 

   She nodded. "That and my pilotin' skills, and your skills as captain, yep. We’re gonna need all sorts of strategizin' and the like. The problem with the shielding is the mass of _Serenity_ isn't sufficient to guarantee that it'll work as intended. Oh, it'll work, don't get me wrong, but not totally or perfectly. A Firefly's mass will probably give us one quarter to thirty percent effective shielding, max. He hasn't had time to perfect it ..."

 

   "Then why the rush to get home?" asked Zoe. "Why not get the bugs worked out first?"

 

   "Two reasons," said Deader. "The first is physical impossibility. It may not be possible for Chen to get the shielding to work better than he has; and two, the Alliance has tightened their grip on his work. He can't look sideways these days, according to Badger, without Alliance Blue Gloves taggin' along in the shadows."

 

   "Blue Gloves ..." said Mal reflectively, remembering River's refrain: _"Two by two, hands of blue ..."_

 

   "You mean assassins."

 

   Deader nodded gravely. "Chen believes—and why doubt him?—that the Alliance is about to make a big push to the Rim."

 

   "A big push," said Mal. "You mean a military strike? An invasion?"

 

   "You can't invade what's already yours," said Deader. Her expression had become very serious. "But yes, that's exactly what I mean."

 

   "For what reason?" asked Zoe.

 

   Deader looked at them all, individually, as though the question was asked as a joke or some such. When it wasn't clear that it had, she said:

 

   "You people keep up with the news, doncha?"

 

   "Not if I can help it," said Mal. Zoe and Kaylee merely looked bewildered.

 

   "The slave market?" said Deader. "Ring any bells?"

 

   Zoe, Kaylee, and Mal glanced at each other and shrugged, shaking their heads.

 

   "It's collapsed!" said Deader with an amazed chuckle. "It's damn near broken the back of the government! Core planets aren't gettin' enough new slaves to meet the demand, so the Alliance is gonna go and grab tens of thousands of Rim folk and haul 'em back to be slaves for the richies livin' in the Core! Surely folks on the Rim you've done business with have told you this!"

 

   The three looked at each other and shook their heads again.

 

   "Most folks out there don't even have a comm link," said Mal. "You know this, or you should. They got no computers, no vidscreens, nothin'. They live off the land and what it provides. They communicate with pen and paper and a fast horse. The most advanced thing they got is a covered wagon with a steel hitch. There might be a single vidscreen in a thousand or ten thousand square miles available for them to use. The magistrates of those rocks ... well, they sure as hell ain't gonna allow their serfs to be informed and connected, now are they?"

 

   Zoe's disgust was evident. "An advanced spacefaring civilization whose central economy is based on slaves ... It's vile, sickening."

 

   "Like Rome," said Kaylee.

 

   When all she got was blank stares, she said, "Ancient Rome? Earth-That-Was? Big empire? It wasn't spacefarin' or any of that, but its economy was based on the same thing the Alliance's is—on a huge military and slaves."

 

   "I didn't know you were such a student of history," remarked Mal, surprised.

 

   "I'm not," she said with only a hint of defensiveness. "I've just been doing a lot of reading lately."

 

   Zoe gave her a look of sympathy, reached out and squeezed her hand. "Not much longer."

 

   Kaylee smiled, then glanced at Mal, whose smirk had returned.

 

   "Not a word out of you," she said, pointing, her smile gone.

 

   Mal chuckled, said, "Did I say anything?"

 

   Deader looked confused. She gazed at Kaylee. And then she smiled.

 

   "Good on you, Kaylee, lamb," she said. "Doctorin' is a noble profession. Stable. Makes for a good catch."

 

   "Let's get back to the Alliance, shall we?" said Mal. "You're telling me the Alliance is gearin' up for a big push to the Rim—to kidnap settlers to be slaves?"

 

   "That's exactly what I'm saying," said Deader.

 

   "When?" said Zoe.

 

   Deader shrugged. "Could be any time now. Or it could happen in a year or more. One thing is for certain," she said, "it's gonna happen."

 

   "And Chen, being the noble man he is, wants to rush home so that he won't have to do any fightin' or dyin'?" asked Mal.

 

   Deader shot him a withering stare. Mal didn't look away from it, though he had to admit feeling the same motherly heat come from it as had come from his own mother when as a young boy he spoke out of turn. It had been many years since he had felt it, and, truth be told, it wasn't entirely unwelcome.

 

   "The Rim worlds provide over seventy percent of all the food the Core planets consume," she said tersely. "Most don't even get to eat what they grow. If they're caught—"

 

   "They can be prosecuted and sold into indenturehood," said Mal. "We know. We deal with those folks all the time. What's your point?"

 

   "The only reason the Alliance hasn't come swarmin' down their necks yet, Captain, is they can't work out how to deal with the massive loss of food production once all the new slaves are gathered up and distributed. Prices will go through the roof! Their solution, if we are to believe Chen, is that they're plannin’ on simply exilin’ several Core worlds, the lesser ones, and either starvin’ ‘em outright or makin’ ‘em poor farmers scratchin' a livin'! Does that sound right to you?"

 

   "Either way, they're slaves," said Zoe.

 

   Kaylee nodded emphatically.

 

   "I'm not a crusader," said Mal, shaking his head. "I have no interest in charging in with my white hat. I'm a businessman—"

 

   Zoe and Kaylee snorted, then laughed.

 

   "How can you _say_ that, Cap'n?" exclaimed Kaylee. "Miranda? Does that ring a bell?"

 

   "And how about those medical supplies that we were paid good money to lift from that train for Niska but returned to the sick villagers who needed them once we learned what they were?" added Zoe.

 

   "Or how about all those medical supplies we stole from that hospital?" said Kaylee. "We coulda sold them for ten times what we asked for ‘em half the time ..."

 

   "Or—"

 

   "Fine! Fine!" yelled Mal. "Enough with my virtuous acts! I've got a reputation to uphold!"

 

   "Truth is," said Deader, "it's the good in you, Captain, that brought Badger to think of you. And that’s includin’ everything else: Lenore and her secrets and your past military experience. And just to let you know, it's those good deeds that brought me to agree to pilot _Serenity_. I had to meet the man who just can't keep from doing good, even though good is the last thing he may want to do."

 

   Mal, for the time being, had nothing to say to that except, "Well. I think I've got enough to think of, so if you will excuse me, I'm going to take this white hat off and gallop into the sunset and go to bed."

 

   He rose to leave.

 

   "There's one more thing I should tell you about this mission, Captain," said Deader.

 

   "And what would that be?" said Mal, who'd heard more than he wanted to know.

 

   "This mission isn't risky just because Chen is a scientist with all sorts of defense secrets ..."

 

   The group waited.

 

   "I think you should know, Captain, that Chen is also the adopted son of the Prime Minister himself."

 

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**


	6. The Village Doc and His Psychic Nurse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River and Simon very nearly died on Jiangyin when she was accused of being a witch. The locals were about to set fire to them when Mal and company showed up. It's amazing how things change. Read on!

**Jiangyin**

 

IT DIDN'T seem so long ago that Mal thought he had lost the good doctor and his sister to hill folk on this dim bulb of a border planet.

 

   This soon-to-be-invaded dim bulb of a border planet.

 

   He had a grim choice to make: go in search of medical help to save the life of Shepherd Book, who had been shot here in yet another easy deal gone south, or let him die while searching for these two, probably the most wanted individuals in the entire _goram_ Verse.

 

   He made his choice. Book survived with the unlikely assistance of that very same Alliance, and _Serenity_ returned just in time to save Simon and River before they were burned alive for some religious nonsense, which to him was redundant.

 

   They broke atmo, everyone safe and sound, and Mal thought that if he could, he’d never park _Serenity_ on this world ever again.

 

   Funny how times change.

 

   Not three months after liftoff from Miranda, Doctor Tam received a wave—from Jiangyin. From the very village that tried to make him and his sister shishkabobs. The religious nutjobs had been driven out, so said its new mayor. They wanted him to come back to see to their sick, young, and elderly. They’d searched high and low for _Serenity_ , and had no interest in being treated by anyone else.

 

   “How can you ensure my safety?” Simon had asked as Mal looked on. “How do I know this isn’t some sort of trap?”

 

   The mayor adjusted the brim of his hat back, said, “Truth tell, Doc, I can’t give you any assurances that won’t stray into the land o’ lies. So I won’t. Word is that you and your sister have a price on your heads. ‘Tain’t none of my business, but it’d be wrong not to let you know I know.”

 

   “It’s true,” said Simon. “Which is another reason why you may want to reconsider your choice.”

 

   “I ain’t all that worried about the Alliance in these parts,” said the mayor. “There’s a benefit to them thinkin’ your world is a toilet. Keeps ‘em outta your hair. And I know you don’t know me from Adam, but I’m in no way part of ‘em.”

 

   “I …”

 

   “We got plenty of hidin’ places here, Doc, don’t you worry none. This rock has caves galore, ‘specially in these parts. Hell, there’s even an abandoned Independent garrison in one of ‘em not two clicks outta town. Needs be we can hide ya in it, _Serenity_ too! It’s big! I’m pert sure the Alliance knows nothin’ of it; and if they came a-lookin’ for you they’d never find ya in it: the damn hole even has anti-sensor shielding shelved into the rock! Still works, too!”

 

   “I …”

 

   “Listen, Doc. One of our townsfolk was a destitute old woman who came suddenly into an inheritance—enough to buy half this planet outright. Seems some cousin or other had been searchin’ for years for her; said it was her rightful inheritance long since stole by his father. He wanted it to be returned to her. She got it not three weeks before she died. I’m the executor of her estate. One of her last acts was to bequeath the entire amount to the village, long as we drove the fanatics who’d kept it under their greasy thumbs out. We did.”

 

   “That’s quite a story,” said Simon, a bit flummoxed.

 

   “Every grain of it is the truth.”

 

   “Don’t you have a doctor there? Don’t the … er … non-hill folk have a physician or two? What do you do if there’s an emergency?”

 

   “We do the best we can, that’s what we do. As for the townies’ doc, we don’t trust ‘im far as we can throw ‘im. On the take. He won’t see ya if you’re not carrying a bag of loot in with ya, and his treatments are more snake oil than castor. To hell with ‘im. He’s an ass boil. I never met ya, Doc, but the sick and injured you treated talk about ya like you’re the second comin’ of … of …”

 

   “Some famous doctor person from the past?”

 

   “That’ll do,” said the mayor. “So whaddya say, Doc? If ya want, I’ve even got a volunteer contingent of armed villagers who’ll look after you and your sister day n’ night.”

 

   “I …” Simon glanced helplessly at Mal, then glanced back.

 

   “Oh, and did I mention your fee?” said the mayor, who had to be sensing a no coming. “Five hundred platinum for a week’s worth of work, more if we can git ya on an agreeable timetable.”

 

   “We’ll see you in two days,” Mal said.

 

   The mayor smiled. “You just made my day, Captain, Doctor …”

 

   “See you then,” said Mal before Simon could protest, and switched off.

 

   After some initial handwringing, which lasted, oh, two days, _Serenity_ set down just outside the village. The mayor had gathered with a dozen villagers who actually applauded when Simon walked down the ramp to greet them. River was by his side, and he introduced her to them.

 

   “We’re sure sorry for how they treated you,” the mayor said to her. “You look like a fine, upstandin’ young woman.”

 

   She smiled dreamily. “Malt whiskey and chewin’ tobacco and nice-fittin’ boots. And you love your grandkids.”

 

   While he blinked, bewildered, she glanced at her brother. “He’s good. We’re safe here.”

 

   “Oh, never mind her, Mr. Mayor,” said Mal, shaking his hand while pushing her behind him. “She enjoys the occasional swim in my psyche too.”

 

   “Hebus,” said the mayor. “Name’s Hebus Corporal, Captain. Good to meet ya.”

 

   “Mr. Corporal, it’s a pleasure to see a little sanity hereabouts …”

 

   “Why don’t you and your crew come on into town for a spell? Shake the space dust off. We’ve got a little potluck set up for y’all. I’d say just lookin’ at ya, Captain, that you’re a Settler’s Wild Nicky man.”

 

   Mal smiled, shook his head. “You’ve got me pegged, Mr. Corporal. I haven’t enjoyed any in quite some time.”

 

   “Just Hebus, Captain. I got a case waitin’ at the saloon. We’ll give you the five-dollar tour and then we’ll eat, whaddya say?”

 

   “Sounds mighty fine to me,” said Jayne, piping up. He bounded down the ramp and towards some young village women who were smiling his way. (He hadn’t been bewitched by Lenore by that point, who with Kaylee was working to repair Mal’s latest set-down.)

 

   That week turned out to be one of the better ones Mal and his crew had had in a good long while. Simon decided to use the ship’s infirmary as a walk-in clinic, and so _Serenity_ ’s ramp would descend bright and early every morning and stay down well after sunset. His Core-trained skills spread like wildfire, and before the week was out even the townies were showing up. They paid separately. The corrupt physician got wind of what was going on and threatened to inform the Alliance, but quieted down real quick when the mayor countered with hacked documents that showed how much he was cheating on his taxes.

 

   When Mal raised the ramp for the last time and _Serenity_ lifted off (with a promise to return every six weeks), he couldn’t keep the satisfied grin off his face. For once a deal didn’t go south. In fact, it couldn’t have gone more north than it did. Simon’s haul was over two thousand platinum, of which he gave nearly half to him.

 

   “I don’t really need it,” Simon said without fuss as he busied himself with cleaning the Infirmary. “With the exception of resupplying the meds and such. Besides, you’ve got repairs to do. Honestly, Captain, I’ll sleep much better at night knowing the ship isn’t about to fall to pieces.”

 

   “Well, Doc, that’s mighty generous of you,” said Mal. “It almost makes me glad that you and your sis got tied up.”

 

   “Captain!” scolded Kaylee, who’d walked in. She kissed Simon. “Why would anyone ever torch the best doctor in the Verse?”

 

   Two days later, at dinner, Simon got down on his knee and proposed to her. Mr. Corporal ran an illegal diamond-selling operation on the side, and Simon had picked a small but radiant gem which the mayor set in an elaborately engraved ring. He pushed it on Kaylee’s finger as tears ran down her cheeks and the crew applauded.

 

   The wedding was on Kerry, Kaylee’s home world, two months later. It was a very simple affair: Kaylee’s folks and younger sisters were there, and a passel of her childhood friends showed up, too. River was her maid of honor, and, believe it or not, Jayne consented to be Simon’s best man. Mal, along with Inara, officiated. Kaylee’s father and Mal hit it off right away, and yet another regular gig landed in his lap when Mr. Dirk Frye hired him to haul junk (he ran a used lander outlet) to Newhall and to bring upgrades back for a very respectable fee, one Mal couldn’t ignore. Inara had in the meantime arranged for the newlyweds to honeymoon on Pelorum, a beautiful resort world that, in her words, was “all but run by Companions.”

 

   The only other thing noteworthy about the wedding was Jayne, who pounded two men who’d crashed the party and were abusing Lenore, having recognized her as a love bot. From that point on he had eyes for no one else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deader had set _Serenity_ down so gently that Mal wasn’t sure they had even landed until he heard the high whine of her mains settle down. Kaylee was waiting in the bridge with them, but bolted now for the ramp.

 

   Simon and River were waiting with the mayor. Kaylee flew into Simon’s arms as Mal and the rest descended the ramp at a more leisurely pace.

 

   “Mal, it’s good to see ya,” said Hebus Corporal. They shook hands.

 

   “We’ve got the supplies you requested,” said Mal to Simon, who was busy kissing his wife. “Uh … Doctor?”

 

   They broke apart long enough for Simon to say, “Thank you, Captain. I’ll see that they’re unloaded right away—”

 

   But he and Kaylee were kissing again. River sighed and walked by them and into _Serenity_. “Get a room,” she murmured.

 

   “She’s a real help, that one,” said the mayor. “That gift of hers, readin’ people and such, big help in diagnosin’ their ailments. Smart, too. Seems she knows a bit about doctorin’ as well. And I don’t mind sayin’ she’s a damn sweet kid. Got time for a snort and some dinner, Captain?”

 

   Mal, who had taken a real liking to this man, said, “I’d love it. Oh—” he motioned to Deader, having just noticed her—“this is—apparently—my new pilot. Tannis …er … Deader Brocius.”

 

   “Just Deader, Mr. Mayor,” said Deader, extending a confident hand after giving Mal a stern motherly glance. The mayor shook it. “Never been on Jiangyin before,” she said. “The captain says you’re the prize bull in these parts.”

 

   Hebus adjusted his hat and said, “I’m afraid I’m too old to be a prize, ma’am.”

 

   “Nonsense,” she shot back. “You look orneryer n’ a rattlesnake in a jock strap.”

 

   Mal winced.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“So the Alliance are fixin’ to herd a bunch of us into slavery, are they?”

 

   Hebus Corporal cut into his steak and snorted. “Not satisfied with starvin’ us out here on the Rim, I guess. Bastards.”

 

   He looked up. “I’m guessing we ain’t gonna see ya around these parts for a while, I take it.”

 

   “If all goes to plan,” said Mal, who’d finished his dinner and sat back with a mug half full of beer. “Which truth tell don’t sit too well with me. Don’t feel right leavin’ ya shorthanded.”

 

   “Oh, don’t worry about that none,” said the mayor. “Doctor Tam has been trainin’ up several of our own. They ain’t doctors, and they ain’t him by a damn sight, but they’ll suit us good enough while you’re gone. You take care of your business, Malcolm, and we’ll take care of ours. ‘Sides, if what you’re sayin’ is the truth, war is comin’ and doctors are gonna be in damn short supply.”

 

   “I’d offer to leave him behind if I didn’t think that with war coming he wouldn’t find himself suddenly surrounded with assassins and bounty hunters and whatnot,” Mal offered.

 

   Hebus swallowed, nodded gruffly. “Rules don’t apply in war.”

 

   “That’s been my experience,” said Mal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

They stayed the night, and in the morning were treated to an omelette breakfast. Simon introduced his nurse-trainees to the crew, and with Kaylee and River unloaded medical supplies.

 

   “There aren’t enough,” Simon said while Mal looked on. “They’ll run out before we get back. _If_ we get back ...”

 

   He looked at him with concern.

 

   Mal had come to taking a real liking to this village, and said, “Don’t worry, Doc. I’ll have Deader send a wave to Badger. Seems I’ve got a little pull now with him. He wants this mission to be completed, so the terms are in my favor. Did you get that feeling, too?” he asked Zoe, who was standing nearby.

 

   “That’s how I see it,” she responded.

 

   “Let your trainees know you’ve got their backs, and I’ll inform the mayor.”

 

   And that was that.

 

   There were hugs and waves, and a few minutes later _Serenity_ lifted off.

 

   Their destination: Bellerophon, to pick up Inara. There was no _goram_ way Mal was gonna take his boat into the very Core of the Alliance without her aboard.

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**

 


	7. Grav Dampeners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inara has a big decision to make. Read on!

**Bellerophon**

 

THE RAMUDY ESTATE was larger than most. Floating a mile over the Bellerophon Sea, it boasted over seven hundred private rooms, a museum of artifacts from Earth-That-Was, an indoor lake, fifteen swimming pools, twenty gymnasiums, three churches, a mall, and an indentured staff of nearly nine hundred ready and willing to give their all to see to the comfort of residents and guests. Baron Taskmos Ramudy constantly complained to the local authorities that nine hundred simply wasn’t enough, but had met with nothing but simpering apologies and useless excuses. His estate demanded no fewer than eleven hundred servants, and he wouldn’t be satisfied until the difference was made up.

 

   He served in Parliament, and was one of the most vocal of those in it demanding that the “lesser worlds” be invaded to swell the indentured ranks once more. He’d had several meetings with the Lord Prime Minister himself, and his extraordinary wealth and influence hadn’t gone unnoticed or unwelcomed.

 

   Ramudy’s wife, Clarissa, was a former Companion who, over the sixty-eight years of her life, had tightened her clutches on the entire Order and its ten Houses, to the point that few decisions affecting all three hundred thousand Companions didn’t get noticed or influenced by her. She was a thin-lipped woman of mixed Asian and Caucasian descent, heavily made up and never to be seen wearing the same outfit two days running, if two hours running. When the _Tanbaness_ —the Gathering of Companions, which took place every five years—came around, Clarissa Ramudy had long since seen to it that it would take place at her estate.

 

   It took a very exclusive invitation to be there, one Inara Serra was certain she wouldn’t get. But there it had been, a secured wave waiting for her in her shuttle a year ago.

 

   The Tanbaness was a four-month-long event. She got the wave from Mal three months in.

 

   “I can’t just pack up and leave!” she protested.

 

   “I …” Mal swore under his breath, then shook his head. “I … need you. I can’t … I can’t do … ah, hell.”

 

   He went to click off, but she stopped him.

 

   “What is it you need? Maybe I can make a few contacts in your general direction …”

 

   “Forget it. Sorry I bothered you, Inara …”

 

   “Wait. Mal, wait. Don’t hang up—”

 

   She hadn’t seen him in three months, and had missed him. She’d missed _Serenity_ too, and the crew. They were family to her, as much as she resisted feeling that way.

 

   “Where are you going?”

 

   “Londinium.”

 

   That gave her pause. “Whatever for?”

 

   “Some VIP. I need you on board when we break atmo. The core of the Core won’t harass us with you here.”

 

   She chuckled. “You hugely overstate my importance.”

 

   “You’re a Companion. They’ll be reluctant to arrest us or blow us out of the sky with … well, with one of your type aboard.”

 

   “A whore?”

 

   He gave a pained glance. “I haven’t called you that in …”

 

   She flushed at her bad behavior. It was uncalled for. “Forgive me. You’re right. You’ve been nothing but kind and gracious … and for far longer than I ever thought you capable.” She wanted to say more, but held off. Instead she asked, “How is everyone?”

 

   “Oh, good, good,” he said with a quick smile. “We got us a new pilot.”

 

   “Really!”

 

   “She came very highly recommended from an unreproachable source.”

 

   “And who would that be?”

 

   “Badger.”

 

   She gawked at the screen. “And you trust her?”

 

   “I can’t believe I’m sayin’ it, but yeah, I do. She’s … well, you should meet her. Hell, even Jayne likes her.”

 

   She nodded blankly.

 

   “Where are you now?”

 

   “Four days out. Look, Inara … if there was any other way to do this job without troublin’ you, I’d …”

 

   “I’m not saying no; but I’m not saying yes, either. I’ll see what I can do. And I’ll let local law enforcement know again that you’re under my protection so you aren’t harassed as you come in.”

 

   “That’s the kind of protection we could sure use going in to Upturned Nose Central …”

 

   “In terms of upturned noses, Londinium and Bellerophon are day and night. I’ll get back to you. Give me two days.”

 

   “I appreciate it. It’s good to see you again.”

 

   “And you,” she said, hoping he couldn’t see the warmth she felt at his words.

 

   He gave an unsure-but-trying-to-be-sure nod and clicked off.

 

   She stared at the blank screen for a long time before standing and leaving her suite.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Requesting an audience with Clarissa Ramudy was, to Inara’s view, a ridiculous procedure. First was the matter of calling it an “audience.” The woman wasn’t a _goram_ queen, after all. She wasn’t even a real Companion, and hadn’t been for years.

 

   Second was the request procedure, which required observing an age-old Companion tea service with one of Ramudy’s staff. Given that the “petitioner” observed the practice appropriately, the staffer would forward the request to another one, higher up the food chain. Given that _that_ one approved the request, and after another tea service, the audience with Ramudy was granted—or not. These hoops typically required many days to jump through. But Inara didn’t have many days. She had two.

 

   She wasn’t worried. She could see Clarissa Ramudy today if needed—which it was. And the reason came down to a ten-month-long affair she’d had with Clarissa Ramudy’s only son when she was sixteen years old.

 

   The War of the Independents was just around the corner, and Inara’s family estate on Osiris bordered the Ramudy’s. Joshua Ramudy and Inara learned to ride horses together, went to the same academy together, and even swam for the academy’s respective boys’ and girls’ swimming team and cheered each other on at meets. They attended the same dinners and balls, and, as they grew up, found each other interesting beyond their friendship, which deepened over time. There was a large oak tree that bordered the Ramudy and Serra estates; it was there that they made love for the first time.

 

   Then the war came, and Joshua was drafted into it by the Allied Planets. And then he was shot and killed.

 

   His last words, which his mother caught wind of, were, apparently, “Let Inara know … I love her … I love her …”

 

   Inara’s heartbreak was unspeakable. But Clarissa Ramudy’s swallowed the Verse. When she heard what her dear son said in his final moments, Inara’s standing was forever sealed.

 

   Clarissa Ramudy was responsible for Inara’s acceptance into House Madrassa, at the time the most respected House in the Companion ranks. She kept constant tabs on her, and when her training was complete, the Ramudy matriarch made it plain that Inara should be fast-tracked for House Priestess, an honor Inara eventually declined with thanks.

 

   At the lift she said to the two security guards standing there, “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Ramudy, please.”

 

   Normally this would result in one of the guards disappearing into it for several minutes. Eventually the guard would bring back a low-level staffer who’d give a “pre-interview” to see what was what, and to determine if a higher-level meeting and an initial tea ceremony was appropriate. But the guards had been apprised as to the importance of Inara Serra, and said only, “If you would accompany us into the lift, ma’am,” then standing out of the way to let her go in first.

 

   The lift’s doors closed and she felt it surge upward. She couldn’t help but think of _Serenity_. For she’d feel that same surge when it lifted off and before the grav dampeners kicked in.

 

   She missed it.

 

   This retreat had turned out to be far more impactful than she thought it would be. For renewed calls had been made in the past few months for her to assume the position as Priestess for House Madrassa, whose standing had suffered over the years and longed for someone who could restore it to its former glory.

 

   All eyes had turned to her. And those that were reluctant to were sternly directly that way by Clarissa Ramudy, who made it abundantly clear that Inara Serra was the one and only choice. The ensuing pressure had been intense and unrelenting.

 

   Two words that also perfectly described Malcolm Reynolds.

 

   She had handled it like a pro, with a deft but sure demeanor and matchless grace, which, ironically, only brought more pressure upon her. She wished she had a little of Mal’s stumbling, bumbling, if-all-goes-to-hell-just-shoot-the-bastards diplomacy. They’d sniff their way out of her hair in an instant. But she didn’t, and that only made her miss him more.

 

   The lift slowed, stopped. The doors opened.

 

   “If you would, Miss Serra …” motioned one of Clarissa’s personal assistants as Inara stepped out. “Madam Ramudy is in the spa but should be available within the hour. Would you care for a late lunch or coffee?”

 

   It occurred to her that she hadn’t eaten since early this morning.

 

   “Both would be nice, thank you,” she said.

 

   The assistant smiled. “Excellent. If you’d just follow me …”

 

   They fed her in the East Garden Room, which gave a spectacular view of the sprawling grounds and the Bellerophon Sea. The day was clear and breezy and softening into a deepening pastel blue.

 

   She ate an assortment of lightly cooked mixed vegetables with exquisitely tender beef, hand-picked white rice, a glass of aged _ríaci_ wine, and then coffee. Three servants saw to her needs; two were permanently stationed behind her, presumably to cut her food and spoon it into her mouth should she demand it.

 

   And there was a time when she would have demanded it, if for no other reason than to “express her wealth,” as Clarissa put it. She had been raised with every comfort in the Verse, and had found great comfort in opulence. For a long time, including most of her time in Companion training, she couldn’t picture herself living any other way.

 

   “A person’s wealth is the surest sign that what he or she is doing is sanctioned and blessed by God.” That was Clarissa Ramudy’s sincere belief, very sincerely voiced, which it was often, and young Inara had bought into it fully. “Of course, the opposite is true as well,” opined Mrs. Ramudy. “If you’re poor, it’s because you are not following the righteous path.”

 

   But then she left House Madrassa and ventured out on her own. She had met Mal and Kaylee and Wash and Zoe, then Simon and River. And she had met Shepherd Book. No one on _Serenity_ ever knew of their many long conversations in her shuttle. She had repeated Clarissa Ramudy’s words once to him and watched as sadness shadowed his face.

 

   “And do you believe that now?” he asked.

 

   “I have no idea what I believe,” she answered honestly. “I was so sure of myself and my place in the Verse back then. And now … well, look at me!”

 

   “I’m looking,” said Book, smiling.

 

   “I used to think adulthood meant certainty. It meant that the steps became surer, and there would be no fog covering them. In many ways that was what I was taught in school.” She went to say something else but shook her head and fell silent.

 

   He studied her. “You feel you have betrayed your past, and your family, for choosing a different path …”

 

   “I can’t help it.”

 

   A long stretch of silence ensued. Book sipped his tea, and she stared blankly over his shoulder.

 

   “It’s worse than that,” she said. “I feel betrayed by … by them. By my entire past. And I can’t help the anger I feel when I think of it.”

 

   “Lies are easy to cover up and disguise with money,” he said.

 

   “Is that it? Aren’t you going to tell me how Jesus said it’s easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven, and so on?”

 

   He gazed at her with surprise, but it lasted only an instant. “I don’t see the point.”

 

   “Why not?”

 

   “Maybe it’s from being on board so long with a hardened atheist.”

 

   “Mal?”

 

   “One and the same.”

 

   She grinned. “He’s not an atheist.”

 

   That surprised him even more. “He sure could’ve fooled me.”

 

   “I’m surprised about that,” she smiled knowingly. “You’ve had training in reading people, probably as good as mine.”

 

   “I _do_ see something quite spiritual in him,” he said. “That much is true.”

 

   “As do I.”

 

   “Is that how you’ve come to believe he’s not an atheist?”

 

   She shook her head. “It’s in his actions. He’s fond of believing they’re inspired by cold, calculating pragmatism, but …”

 

   “Agreed.”

 

   “He was a believer once. A very devout one. And then …”

 

   “War.”

 

   She nodded. “War.”

 

   “There is wealth that has nothing to do with money.”

 

   “Only when I left the House did I see that. You’ve got it, Shepherd.”

 

   He bowed his head. “That’s very kind of you, Inara.”

 

   “It’s the truth.”

 

   “And Mal? Does he have that wealth too, you think?”

 

   “Most definitely. If only …”

 

   “… he’d see it.”

 

   They’d spoken together.

 

   “Inara! Oh my dear, it’s so, so _good_ to see you!”

 

   She snapped her head up. Clarissa Ramudy, fresh from the spa and towel twisted over her head, had entered the Garden Room with her entourage.

 

   Inara stood and took her outstretched hands. “Your Grace …”

 

   “Don’t you look the essence of refinement and breeding!” crowed Mrs. Ramudy. “I was just telling Geni Weisenworth yesterday that I haven’t seen you even twice and should call you up for a visit! How have you been, my dear? Please, sit, sit! We desperately need to catch up!”

 

   She turned to a slave, one of six. “More coffee. And bring some scones.”

 

   The servant bowed low and strode off. The rest waited diligently, hands behind their backs.

 

   She beamed at Inara. “I just returned from the Calisco Conference. What a treat!”

 

   “I heard about it,” said Inara.

 

   “So many changes coming,” said Clarissa Ramudy. “I’m not one for change, generally speaking, but these truly are for the best.”

 

   “Yes. As I understand it, Academy requirements, House admission rules, that sort of thing … right?”

 

   “It’s going to be a brave new world for Companions,” stated Mrs. Ramudy surely, patting Inara’s hands. “Our role with the Allied Planets has always been a solid one; now it’s going to be more foundational than ever. We have positioned ourselves as an indispensable cornerstone of our proud Alliance!”

 

   Inara considered that when she entered Companion training she had no interest in politics or affairs of state. If Companions were a cornerstone of the Alliance, they were an unseen one and there only at the whims of the wealthy and powerful, for whom a Companion was a necessary status symbol. Companions had insinuated themselves over the years into palaces and estates and “mansions”—huge spacecraft owned by the superwealthy and influential, and their influence in such places had grown. The change had been very gradual at first. But these days Companion influence was felt all over the Core, and at the very highest levels, including Parliament. Baron Ramudy personally kept five “dedicated” Companions, and constantly complained about having to pamper them.

 

   Inara still had no interest in politics and affairs of state. Her time aboard _Serenity_ had changed her from one concerned about appearances and appropriate attire and habits and culture and training to desiring only freedom and the ecstatic jolt of breaking atmo and the sometimes frightening uncertainty of a new day. If there were any concerns about politics, it was for those many she had met in her travels: the poor and destitute and those with absolutely no voice in Clarissa Ramudy’s “proud Alliance.”

 

   The coffee and scones were served, and she made small talk with her hostess.

 

   “You are of such exquisite breeding,” commented Clarissa after a lull in conversation, appraising Inara with a tight smile.

 

   “Thank you, Grace,” said Inara humbly.

 

   Mrs. Ramudy reached for her hands, squeezed them. “Just look at you! Everything you do is with such style, such quiet culture and refinement.” Her face darkened slightly. “I had such a _difficult_ time finding you! When I heard you were …” She released her hands and turned in her seat and addressed one of her entourage, a very good-looking young black man. “Where did we send that invitation wave, Gordes?”

 

   “Server four forty-eight, Madam. The RSVP came back from Triumph.”

 

   Clarissa turned back in her seat, her face aghast. “Triumph! Oh my dear, what in God’s holy name is on Triumph?”

 

   Inara couldn’t put a rein on her tongue.

 

   “A lot of dust, actually. And wild horses, which is why we were there.”

 

   “ ‘We’?” said Mrs. Ramudy with disdainful suspicion in her voice.

 

   Inara regretted saying anything. She took a sip of coffee.

 

   “ ‘A Companion is like a diamond,’ ” she quoted from the iconic _The Ways of a Companion_ as she set her cup down. “ ‘Refined from rough stone, her gleaming facets forget nothing of what they lost to become so cultured and graceful.’ ”

 

   Clarissa held her steely gaze on her. And then it softened into pleading.

 

   “Inara! Inara! Right there, don’t you see? Right _there!_ You are a natural! You must— _must_ —take the robes of the House Priestess of Madrassa! Oh my beautiful, sweet Inara … What a diamond you have become! Joshua would’ve been so, so proud! I honestly doubt he would’ve taken anyone else but you! He was _so_ in love with you …”

 

   The mention of Joshua was inevitable, and when it finally came, Inara sighed inwardly. What Clarissa did not know, and what Inara would never tell her, was that Joshua Ramudy opposed the Allied Planets and his unearned privilege. He was passionate about his desire to be of service to those on the Rim, and he held no grudge against them. When the Alliance drafted him, he went, of course, for conscientious objectors went by a different name: dead. He thought he would do his duty and return home only to leave again. He knew the Rim planets would still be there after the war, and he was bound and determined to use his fortune to do what he could for them.

 

   And then he died.

 

   There was a lot of Joshua in Mal, despite Mal’s best efforts to come off as a shrewd and wily businessman unconcerned with nothing but a payday. It was in fact the thing that most attracted her to him. He even looked a bit like she thought Joshua would look at the same age.

 

   She smiled sadly, as she had many times before, and said, “And I loved him, Your Grace.”

 

   Clarissa Ramudy’s eyes glazed over with moisture, as they had all those times in the past. “Oh …” she crowed, “oh …”

 

   But then the moisture disappeared, leaving behind a harsh, appraising tint.

 

   “I’ve pushed up the date for the election to Friday,” she said. “I am determined to see you put those House Priestess robes on!”

 

   That was a shock. “Friday?”

 

   _Serenity_ was due to land Friday!

 

   “You _are_ going to be the savior of House Madrassa!” said Mrs. Ramudy with stern assertiveness. “Of that I have no doubt!”

 

   She waited for Inara to respond. Inara held up the mask of a smiling face with a faltering spirit. She hoped Her Grace didn’t notice.

 

   The essence of being a Companion was deception. Now more than ever, she needed her training.

 

   For a long time she thought there was no other way to be in the Verse, no other way to create a life worth living. Deception: polite wind aimed at those who could advance her ambitions. Deception: masks and bows and curtsies and light lunches and clients who’d take their leave of her convinced she found them the most exquisite, the most sensitive lover, who knew them better than anyone. Deception: passionate kisses sent forth from a disinterested soul; fragile caresses against pressing thoughts for the morrow; the soft cry of ecstasy from a body that felt nothing remotely close to ecstasy …

 

   That was how she had been trained. And that was how she had lived her life to this point.

 

   Friday that life would be cemented in place for good and for ever. And she knew that was what Clarissa Ramudy wanted most of all.

 

   She had refused the robes once. She knew she couldn’t do it twice.

 

   She was trapped.

 

   With a smile that threatened to break a sweat on her forehead, she kept her gaze on Mrs. Ramudy and said, bowing her head in deference, “I am ready to serve, Your Grace.”

 

   _“Oh, excellent!”_ cried Clarissa, grabbing her hands once again. “House Madrassa will once again rule under your stewardship, of that I have no doubts, no doubts whatsoever!”

 

   She turned to Gordes. “I believe this calls for some champagne! Please, service for all, service for all!”

 

   The entire entourage bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace.” “Thank you, Mrs. Ramudy.” “Thank you, ma’am …”

 

   She squeezed Inara’s hands. “I am _so_ _proud_ of you!”

 

   Inara bowed her head. “Your Grace.” She then added, “I have a request to make, if I may …”

 

   “Anything! Anything!”

 

   “My parents have sent several crates of items of my belongings on Osiris here, which should get here, coincidentally, Friday …”

 

   “Shrewd, very shrewd,” said Clarissa approvingly, giving her a sideways smile. “You anticipated this. Excellent. You need the orbitmaster to let the courier land? Well, have no worries, my dear. Give the courier’s postal code to the sheriff, and he’ll give them safe passage.”

 

   “That’s exactly what I needed,” said Inara. “Thank you again, Your Grace.”

 

   “Think nothing of it. Oh, I cannot _wait!_ Friday will be _glorious!_ ”

 

   “Yes,” said Inara quietly. “Yes, I believe it will be.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Serenity_ settled slowly on pad G, which was generally reserved for postal carriers and was well out of the way. Inara waited at the perimeter, a nervous, impatient smile on her face.

 

   She had spent the past four days in furious preparation, when she wasn’t busy glad-handing people at conferences and meetings, people who had been told this was the soon-to-be new Priestess of House Madrassa and who kowtowed appropriately at her presence, smiling kindly and ever so deceptively. This was the life she was leaving, for good and for ever. She knew that.

 

   She persuaded the sheriff that _Serenity_ needed full-rights passage to Londinium as well, which included complete security clearance: _Serenity_ was, they were told, tasked to deliver VIPs back from that most central of Central Planets to celebrate her ascension to House Priestess.

 

   That was the easy part of the deception.

 

   The hard parts: contacting _Serenity_ on a secured channel, and then setting up a false trail to explain her disappearance.

 

   The first she managed through Baron Ramudy’s personal secretary, who allowed her to use his personal wave account, thinking, no doubt, that soon-to-be House Priestesses personally recommended by his wife should be granted such courtesies. Inara’s transmission was two seconds in length and scrambled and deleted immediately after being sent. It said only: “Come pick me up.”

 

   The second required money—lots of money. Lots of untraceable money.

 

   Her personal fortune was estimated at over three hundred million, much of it in various untouchable accounts and trusts, all with the highest security protocols protecting them. Several of those she could touch she had carefully squirreled away over the years into quite untraceable and completely illegal “transorbital” accounts. She’d done this with absolutely no one’s knowledge, and for one and only one reason: if Mal and his crew ever truly found themselves on the corner of No and Where with nothing left to keep them flying, those accounts would be there to ensure they could.

 

   Ironic, she thought, that she’d access them now to keep _her_ going.

 

   Unhappy slaves weren’t hard to find, and that included Mrs. Ramudy’s Gordes. In the early dark of her last night on Bellerophon, he gave Inara what she was looking for: her disappearance would be called a kidnapping, witnessed by at least five indentured including him, each with records that, more or less, would protect them and bolster their claims that they saw her snatched by shadowy types as she made her way to the Placanard Observation Deck to watch the sunset. That particular deck was beneath the estate’s superstructure and could only be reached by a long elevator ride. Save for her many visits there the past three months, it was rarely frequented. Gordes saw to it that security cameras at the ostensible crime scene were down or destroyed.

 

   The red-herring ship that the slaves would claim they saw her forced aboard would look nothing like _Serenity_.

 

   There was one more issue. Pad G was secured—meaning monitored. _Those_ cameras would have to be inoperable or pointing elsewhere when _Serenity_ touched down. But try as she might, she could find no one to help her, and Gordes and his team did not have the proper access to deal with them in time.

 

   Which is why, standing there and listening to _Serenity_ ’s mains lower, she was dressed as an indentured servant, her hair cut short and under a cap, her hand on a trolley. Gordes and his team surrounded her, their large bodies keeping her face hidden from the cameras, ready to offload personal effects that didn’t exist. They’d have to improvise something on the fly.

 

   Mal had no idea what was going on. Assuming his new pilot unscrambled her message to “Come pick me up,” he’d be left to intuit that something was afoot. She’d have to let him and the crew know the deal—also on the fly. As breathlessly as she had worked to deceive Clarissa Ramudy and everyone at the Tanbaness, she knew the wave Mal had originally sent her would probably be enough to get him and the ship tagged for bounding and searching. It was all a matter of time and timing.

 

   “Businesslike, Miss Serra, businesslike,” said Gordes, who stood calmly next to her. “Let us do our jobs. You do yours. Ready? Stay just behind me, and let’s go.”

 

   _Serenity_ ’s hatch lowered, and there was Mal and Kaylee, looking around for Inara and not seeing her fifty feet away and pushing a trolley towards them.

 

   Gordes reached Mal, bowed to him, and then said something to him that made him stare, then gape at Inara for a split second before saying, “Go on. We’ll help.”

 

   Kaylee finally spotted her, and went to run and hug her, but, confused by her dress and then by Mal, who calmly took her arm and turned her about, said, “Oh, right. Right! Let’s get to work. We’ve got a lot of stuff here …”

 

   The slaves offloaded eight large crates, which were, as it turned out, empty. But they had fancy electronic locks and were exactly the type the wealthy would use to send their possessions here and there. Inside Inara took her cap off, and there Kaylee flew into her arms and Simon and River hugged her, and Deader introduced herself and Lenore shook her hand. Jayne gaped at her shorn head and, blinking, said with Lenore standing next to him, “It is … uh … very pleasant to see you again, Inara.” Mal thanked the slaves and they left and he brought the hatch up. He turned to her, staring. “I take it we need to get out of here right now?”

 

   She nodded. “But don’t look like you’re hurrying. Please.”

 

   “You won’t believe how nonchalant I can make us look,” said Deader, and went to mount the stairs for the bridge.

 

   “Those crates didn’t come cheap,” he complained.

 

   She had learned long ago that offering to buy him anything was an exercise in utter futility, so she said, “It’s good to see you again, Captain.”

 

   “And you,” he smiled, then looked her up and down. “I don’t mind tellin’ you that you look good with short hair.”

 

   “And dressed as a slave?”

 

   “That don’t hurt either.”

 

   She gave him a tired smile, having pushed down the wicked one. “I think we should explore your dented psychosexual tendencies some other time, don’t you?”

 

   “Is that a date?” he asked, genuine surprise on his face.

 

   She walked away from him for the stairs and her shuttle. Kaylee, next to her, listened wide-eyed while trying to suppress giggles of astonishment.

 

   “That depends on you, I suppose,” said Inara over her shoulder, feeling that surge of freedom as _Serenity_ lifted off and just before the grav dampeners kicked in.

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**

 


	8. Sri Lanka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To land on Londinium, the crew of Serenity must be inoculated against unacceptability. Read on!

**Truth was, Mal had never been to Londinium his entire life**. Neither had Jayne, Kaylee, or Zoe. Deader told the story of how her niece had been invited to some convention there with her school, but had to cancel when war broke out. That was the closest Deader got to it. Only Simon and River had ever visited the seat of the Allied Planets, and then only twice. Their father was an Appointee of the Medical Elect and took his family to Londinium when the annual meetings took place there.

 

   Only Inara was familiar with Londinium. Her only advice to everyone as they sat around the galley table was: “You’re all going to stand out like sore thumbs. I hate to say this, and don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t belong there, none of you.”

 

   “Personally, I take that as a compliment,” said Mal. “I wouldn’t want to be counted among a bunch of sniffs.”

 

   “Damn straight,” said Jayne, who looked like he wanted to eat his words before anyone heard them. Lenore sat next to him; he glanced nervously at her and said, “Excuse me. It just came out of me.”

 

   Lenore gave him an understanding smile and squeezed his hand. She gazed at Mal. “Captain, I have extensive files on Londinium: its history, culture, popular restaurants, social events, and much more. Would you like me to make them available for you and the crew?”

 

   Mal shook his head, gave her a quick but grateful smile in return. “That won’t be necessary just yet. Thanks anyway.” He glanced at Inara. “If we’ll stand out like sore thumbs, I suppose _Serenity_ …”

 

   “Exactly,” she said. “A ship like _Serenity_ won’t be allowed to land during the day.”

 

   “So the sniffs won’t have to look up and see us,” he said.

 

   She nodded. “Cargo vessels are allowed to land only at night; and that’s no doubt how they’ll classify _Serenity_.” She gazed at Deader. “I take it you know our destination?”

 

   “That I do,” said Deader shortly. “We’ll be touchin’ down in New Cardiff itself.”

 

   “The capital city?”

 

   “Last time I checked, it was,” she said.

 

   Bellerophon to Londinium was an eleven-day burn. In that time Inara and Deader had gotten to know each other a little, and it was obvious, at least to Mal, that they hadn’t decided if they liked each other or not. Deader was terse with Inara; and Inara was terse in return.

 

   A day from their destination, nothing had changed. Mal pushed the potential problems of two women living on his boat with claws extended at each other from his mind and said, “It beggars belief that Badger knows anyone on Londinium.”

 

   “As much as Capitals like to think they are free of crime, they aren’t. It’s just hidden better,” said Inara.

 

   “Do we have port coordinates, Captain?” asked Kaylee. Simon sat next to her. He had stayed silent for most of dinner and now this discussion. It was obvious he was nervous about landing there, as was River, who leaned against the wall at the galley’s entrance.

 

   “Smack dab in the center of Snifftown itself. Maybe two miles from Parliament.”

 

   That seemed impossible to everyone, and they all looked at Deader for a response. She shrugged. “I believe the Limey’s intel. I helped him get it. We’ll be all right.” She eyed Mal as one does a bull that might rush her any second. “There’s one more thing.”

 

   Everybody waited. She kept her gaze on him. “Inara isn’t wrong about the sore thumb bit. But it’s worse than that. Much worse.”

 

   “How so?” demanded Mal.

 

   She turned to Inara. “When was the last time you were on Londinium?”

 

   Inara shook her head, thinking. “I’m not sure. Maybe ten years ago? I know I wasn’t twenty yet …”

 

   “Well,” prefaced Deader, looking nervously back at Mal, “Londinium officials passed an ‘Acceptability Ordinance’ a few years back that requires everybody who might show their faces to be inoculated.”

 

   “Against what?” asked Zoe.

 

   “Against _un_ acceptability,” replied Deader.

 

   The crew stared at one another, confused, then back at her. “What, you have to take a shot that makes you somehow acceptable?” demanded Mal.

 

   “That’s exactly what you have to do,” said Deader. “It’s an injection of nanobots that interact with your various body systems. Others with the injection can tell you’ve had one, and so are acceptable to meet and interact with.”

 

   The crew held quiet in stunned silence for a moment, then erupted with shouts of outrage. Even Lenore looked scandalized (she was trying to fit in, after all), though she held quiet; and Inara, while not yelling, stared down into her lap and shook her head. Mal was shouting the loudest: “There’s no _goram_ _way_ I’m letting the Alliance get inside my head with their injections! _NO_ _GORAM_ _WAY_!”

 

   “May I finish?” Deader said at a normal pitch. She repeated it several more times as the cacophony continued. “May I finish? … May I finish? …”

 

   The crew quietened. She looked at them all, one by one, before coming back to Mal, whose face was plum-red.

 

   “Before you go stampedin’ off again to the Badlands of Bad Kitchen Manners, sir, please sit down and let me finish. Thank you. I was on Londinium not a year ago. I’ve been injected, as you will be injected, but it wasn’t with Alliance gunk. There are mind-altering bot-riders in the crap they give you, but _not_ in the injections you’ll get. We’ll be meeting with Independents and Yuns who have modified the original solution. No Alliance mind-alterin’ crap, but with the same bots who’ll make you look acceptable to the sniffs, as you called them, Captain. The crap they inject their citizens with also has trace-bots in it, which allows the government to keep tabs on everyone’s whereabouts. The stuff we’ll get does the opposite: it makes us invisible to their sensors. You _want_ to be injected, folks, believe me. Just not with the government crap.”

 

   Inara was still shaking her head. She looked up when she noticed that everyone’s attention had turned to her. She sighed. “I supported unification. I was certain an allied Verse was the right way to go. But look what they’re doing. They’re making people sheep. It’s … evil.”

 

   She gazed at River, her eyes begging. They didn’t speak for a long time. Finally River said, “It’s okay. You couldn’t have known.”

 

   Mal, still cooling down, murmured, “I suppose we’ll need the proper drapery to make ourselves presentable, regardless of this injection.”

 

   “Badger has that all covered,” said Deader. “Everyone here—including you, Lenore, my dear—will have clothing appropriate to Londinium furnished to you.”

 

   Jayne grunted. “How can the rodent afford that?”

 

   “Let’s just say that his connections have proven very valuable to the Yuns, and therefore to the Independents as well.”

 

   “That’s twice you’ve mentioned Independents,” said Zoe, who like Mal looked like she was still a couple of degrees from overheating. “You’re telling me there are active Independents on Londinium?”

 

   “That’s what I’m telling you, yes,” replied Deader, taking a sip of coffee. “Right under the Alliance’s big sniffin’ nose.”

 

   Zoe glanced at the captain. “All these years, we’ve never met bona fide Independents. Now we’re being told they’re in the capital city, just two miles from Parliament—?”

 

   Mal nodded. “That was exactly what I was about to mention.” He turned to Deader. “Well?”

 

   “How many folks you’ve done business with or stuck a gun in the face of or helped out would know you were an Independent, Captain?” shot back Deader.

 

   Mal held his glare on her, but it couldn’t hold. “Good point,” he grumbled.

 

   “You were never alone,” said Deader. “That’s what the Alliance wanted you to think—that you were alone, the last of a dead movement. You weren’t. You’re about to meet a fair few who, like you, once thought they were alone too. The movement is far from dead.”

 

   The crew lapsed into silence. Deader interrupted it with: “We’re six or so hours out yet. I’ve got _Serenity_ goin’ into a large standard orbit.”

 

   “What for?” asked Mal.

 

   “The general procedure for breaking atmo on Londinium is to land and then let government officials give you that injection after they check your passport and luggage and declare your worthiness to be there. We’ll need to be injected with our gunk _before_ they do that. Our injection will destroy the government nano-bots, or use them to enhance our gunk, but it needs half a day to assimilate, else it’ll be worthless. Londinium’s orbit is filled with billions of tons of space junk, most of it ancient—the abandoned spaceboats that ferried the human race from Earth-That-Was. You all know this …”

 

   She glanced around at the crew; they all nodded as if it was common knowledge, which it was.

 

   “You also know that museums have been made of some of it …”

 

   They nodded again.

 

   “We’re going to dock at one of those museums. Government oversight isn’t as oppressive aboard them as it is on the surface. That’s _our_ doing and _our_ nano-bots. There are several agents waiting for us there with our injections and the initial port itinerary.”

 

   She glanced at Mal. “With your permission, Captain, of course.”

 

   He had been staring down at the table. He nodded without looking up.

 

   “I would like to test some of that ‘gunk,’ as you called it, before we put it into our bodies,” said Simon.

 

   “An excellent idea,” said Mal, gazing up at him.

 

   “I may be able to alter it further, if what you say about it is true. Medical nano-bots are extraordinary bits of technology,” Simon added. “I may be able to tweak them.”

 

   There was a time that Mal could scarcely tolerate him or his sister. River was still a royal pain in the keister at times; but Simon … the ship’s doctor had proven not just to be an invaluable member of the crew, but also someone Mal found he could place his trust in to do what was right for everyone involved. He found himself admiring Simon more and more; as a result, their friendship, years in the making, had finally begun to take root and grow.

 

   “Besides,” Simon continued, “I’m leery of injecting River with anything that …”

 

   He didn’t have to go on. Everyone save Deader was staring at him and nodding emphatically, even River.

 

   Deader chuckled.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The museum they approached was a slowboat named _Sri Lanka_. Almost a full mile in length and a third of a mile in diameter, it looked like a giant space sausage, or …

 

   Zoe snickered. So did River. Kaylee blushed. “I guess it could be seen as symbolic,” she commented.

 

   When all she received were stares, she shrugged and said, “Well, you know, spreadin’ life n’ all …” She shrugged again, then looked away, ostensibly to get the attention off her.

 

   “We’re going encrypted,” announced Deader. She punched a few buttons. “ _Sri Lanka_ _,_ zero-three-nine enable …”

 

   “Enable,” came back a cold computer voice.

 

   “Damn strange that voice is … so old,” said Deader, who appeared to have stopped herself from saying something else. “Gives me the chills knowin’ it’s a voice that was birthed on Earth-That-Was …”

 

   Zoe nodded. Kayle and River looked spooked.

 

   “What’s the latest?” said Mal, who came up behind her.

 

   “We’ve just made contact with the Independents,” said Deader. “I’m just waitin’ for dockin’ instructions.”

 

   “That’s one massive piece of hardware,” said Mal, staring out at the tremendous ship filling more and more of the view outside.

 

   Kaylee and River glanced at each other and started giggling. Zoe, grinning, shook her head.

 

   “What’s so funny?” demanded Mal.

 

   “Don’t mind them,” said Deader. “Their minds are bent a little towards the prurient, methinks.”

 

   “Seriously, Cap’n … I mean, _look_ at it!” giggled Kaylee.

 

   Mal was about to respond when the comm sounded out.

 

   “ _Serenity_ delta-one-niner, approach zero point three six; seven by eight, encrypt override; lock forty-four. See you in eighteen minutes.”

 

   Deader, wagon plugged into a pilot-side port, fed the data into the program. It beeped.

 

   “We’re good,” she said. “They check out.” She looked up at Mal. “The Independents will want to check out this ship, Captain, for any Alliance nano-tech that might be onboard.”

 

   “There’s none,” said Mal flatly.

 

   Deader shook her head. “You don’t know that. Every time you dock—it don’t matter where—you expose _Serenity_ to Alliance-created nano-tech. Most of it is junk, harmless, outdated. But some of it is dormant and will activate in the right conditions, say, breaking atmo on Londinium.”

 

   “What does it do?” asked Kaylee, alarmed. She’d beaten Mal to the question; he glanced at her before gazing back at Deader.

 

   “It’s like any infection,” answered Deader. “Eventually it’ll overwhelm the host. Most of it is designed to alter the minds of the crew over time. Some of it takes over comm and navigation systems, rewriting programming to Alliance standards. All of it is designed to inform the Alliance of potential illegal or subversive activity.”

 

   “Like gettin’ the clap,” commented Zoe.

 

   Given the shape of the great vessel filling more and more of the front viewports, and given the blue world they were falling into orbit of, no one found her observation anywhere close to humorous.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _Serenity_ bumped gently against airlock eighteen minutes later, and once again Mal found himself suppressing vocal admiration of Deader’s piloting skills. The lock sealed with a distant hiss; he looked at her and said, “Let’s go meet these Independents.”

 

   The crew made their way to the hatch and waited. The lock on the other side pressurized, and then three solid knocks sounded out against _Serenity_ ’s hull. Mal pulled the door open and stared, then stepped hastily backward and pulled out his pistol. Inara screamed.

 

   The Alliance assassin who had tried to keep intel about Miranda from being broadcast to the Verse stood in the airlock two feet away and stared back.

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**

 


	9. The Great Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last meeting between the assassin and Malcolm Reynolds ended with a warning: Mal would kill him if he set eyes on him again. Read on!

**The assassin slowly held up his hands.** “Malcolm Reynolds,” he said, giving him a deferential nod. “I am unarmed.” He took a brash step through the airlock and stepped into _Serenity_. “Please: search me.” He turned around.

 

   Mal kept his sight down his pistol’s barrel. Jayne and Zoe were staring down theirs as well. Jayne growled, “I _knew_ this was all a _goram_ setup …”

 

   The assassin dropped to his knees and laced his fingers behind his head. He didn’t appear to be frightened.

 

   “Zoe—”

 

   “Yes, sir.”

 

   Zoe came around, shotgun at the ready. “Get up. Keep your hands up. Move in any way I don’t like and you’ll have a big bloody hole in you.”

 

   The assassin stood. She holstered her weapon and patted him down.

 

   “He’s clean,” she announced.

 

   Mal kept his weapon aimed and ready. Teeth clenched, he said, “What is this? I thought you and I had an understanding. If I recall, I told you I’d kill you the next time I saw you. That sound familiar?”

 

   The assassin cautiously turned to face him. “I am prepared for that. This is my demonstration of good faith.”

 

   Mal pulled back on the hammer. “I suspect it doesn’t make a _fay-fay duh pee-yen_ if I blow your brains all over my airlock or not; my boat is humped no matter what I do now. Isn’t that right?”

 

   The assassin shook his head. “No. That isn’t right.”

 

   “Who’s back there behind you? Who’s waitin’ for us past that airlock?”

 

   “Scientists, mainly,” said the assassin, glancing over his shoulder. “No soldiers to speak of. A few writers—and a painter; I nearly forgot.”

 

   “Do you expect me to believe that?”

 

   The assassin shook his head.

 

   “Wars require soldiers. If what I’ve heard about the Alliance is true, this is a war. So where are the pawns ready to be sacrificed for God and country?”

 

   “Like you?” asked the assassin. “Is that what you believe yourself to be, Malcolm—a pawn?”

 

   “I certainly was the first go-round,” snarled Mal.

 

   “And I was when the ‘first go-round’ was won and I found you. We were both pawns. It is time we stopped being ones, don’t you agree?”

 

   He slowly lowered his arms and took a step towards him. “Men were not born to be pawns. Men were born to be free.” He took another step. “The only person in the Verse who knows that better than me is standing two feet in front of me.”

 

   Mal didn’t lower his weapon. “Wind. What dead pile of philosophizing _ching-wah tsao duh liou mahng_ did you learn that from?”

 

   The assassin shook his head. “I didn’t.” He took another step and raised his hand and put it gently on the barrel. “I learned it from you.”

 

   Mal glared down the barrel of his pistol, then reluctantly let the weight of the assassin’s hand lower it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stepping into the _Sri Lanka_ was like stepping through a portal into the distant past. The assassin led them down a long, curving, low-ceilinged corridor to a spacious viewing room. Londinium glowed huge and blue twenty thousand miles below.

 

   There were ancient plastic chairs scattered here and there, stacked in haphazard piles in the corners, which were cast in dusty shadow. Several were occupied; the people in them rose when they entered: five men and six women. The assassin joined them and turned to face _Serenity_ ’s crew.

 

   “These are some of the scientists I mentioned. They are all ‘defectors,’ if you will, from the Alliance.”

 

   “ ‘If you will’?” said Zoe. “What does that mean, exactly?”

 

   “It means we do our work for the Independence under the noses of the Alliance right here on Londinium,” said one, a middle-aged woman with severe eyebrows and tightly coiffured hair. “It means we put our lives on the line every day by doing so. The other side of this ship is a museum, which the Alliance subcontracts to private parties to keep open. Over a very long time we have infiltrated them. They are now with the Independence. The _Sri Lanka_ is now an Independence colony starship. The danger inherent in that fact should be obvious to anyone with even marginal intelligence. Do you understand now?”

 

   She gazed angrily at Zoe, who gazed angrily back.

 

   “These people have, or are, assisting Chen on the surface with the double-M shielding that will be installed on _Serenity_ ,” said the assassin.

 

   “ ‘Double-M?” said Kaylee.

 

   “Mass-momentum,” answered another scientist, who could’ve been Simon’s brother.

 

   Kaylee nodded blankly.

 

   “I don’t mean to be rude,” said Mal, “or—maybe I do. In any case, why call a confab? Is it necessary to meet these people? Can we just get on with the job and be on our way?”

 

   The assassin smiled. Mal remembered it from the first time he met him at the temple Inara was staying at on … well, whichever _goram_ moon had that sniffy temple. He supposed there was more than one. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember. What mattered was that smile and how badly he wanted to smash it.

 

   “One thing that settles me when I feel that my life is out of my control are the few constants in it,” said the assassin. “You, Malcolm, are one of those constants.”

 

   Inara grinned. Mal noticed.

 

   “These fine scientists wanted to meet you and your crew,” the assassin offered. “They wanted to meet you so that they could feel assured that all their very hazardous work wasn’t being done in vain. Can you sympathize with that?”

 

   Mal held up, then gave a curt nod.

 

   “Introductions can wait,” said the assassin, “save mine. I believe it is time that I make myself fully known to you.” He approached Mal and held out his hand. “Hello, Malcolm. My name is Robon. Robon Mishiwaka.”

 

   He held out his hand, waiting. A long, tense moment passed. Mal reluctantly grabbed the assassin’s hand and shook it. He went to release it, but Robon Mishiwaka tightened his grip. “I feel I must give you some warning. What these scientists have to show you and your crew will come as quite a shock.”

 

   “Then let’s get on with it,” said Mal.

 

   Robon Mishiwaka let go, turned to face the scientists, and gave them a nod.

 

   Simon’s lookalike approached. “This way, please.” The others, already leaving the viewport, scattered into the labrynthine bowels of the _Sri Lanka_. Mal and the crew followed. Robon Mishiwaka, the Alliance assassin-turned defector, brought up the rear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the way to wherever they were going, Robon’s comm link beeped.

 

   “Yes?” he said without stopping or picking up any device.

 

   “Affirmative on contamination,” said a female voice.

 

   “How serious?”

 

   “Seventy-eight percent. Minimum,” answered the voice.

 

   “Any danger to us?”

 

   “Negative. Most are outdated; the infrastructure is over ninety-five percent sound.”

 

   “Get rid of them,” ordered the assassin. “Inject the affected infrastructure. Get back to me when you’re done. I want to inspect the damaged areas myself.”

 

   “Yes, sir,” said the female voice.

 

   The comm link clicked off.

 

   “What was that?” demanded Jayne, who had been walking shoulder to shoulder with Mal. Lenore was just behind him; she must’ve been concerned with the angry edge in his voice, because she reached out and put a calming hand on his shoulder. He turned fully with a grunt and waited.

 

   “That was Sapna,” the assassin said. “She’s just completed a diagnostic of your ship. Seventy-eight percent of it is compromised with Alliance nanotech, including your ship’s infrastructure, which has sustained significant damage to five percent of the hull.”

 

   “Whoa,” said Kaylee, who stood next to Deader. “How can that be possible? _Serenity_ ’s software is old, I grant, but not _that_ old! I run a sweep every two days. You know that, Cap’n! Every time I run one …”

 

   “Your software isn’t programmed to detect Alliance military nanotech,” announced Robon. “The only software programmed to detect Alliance military nanotech is itself Alliance military, and is run only by Alliance military.”

 

   “So how is it that you came by it?” grumbled Mal.

 

   “Because I was Alliance military,” said the assassin. “Before I defected—just after I saw you the last time—I stole the latest version of it. We—the Independence—have been improving on it since. We can’t physically get rid of the tech, but we can render it inert, and we can repair the damage, though it will take some time. We’re here.”

 

   He walked past the group and stopped at the third door on the left, which swished open. He stepped out of the way and motioned for them to go in. Mal stared, then stepped forward and through, his crew following. The door closed.

 

   The room was round and sterile white, with medical machinery and stations along the rim. It looked ancient, but somehow still spotless. Mal felt the touch of death here, and the stale whiff of forgotten centuries.

 

   Simon came forward. “Was this the sickbay?”

 

   The assassin nodded. “One of a hundred. The _Sri Lanka_ carried a hundred thousand people in cryosleep. But, as the stories from our elementary schooling go, one couldn’t stay in cryosleep for more than two years at a time. The technology wasn’t advanced enough to support that. After two years the solution injected into the body to keep ice from forming started to break down. Before that happened the person needed to be woken. They would put his blood back in him after purging the old solution, and just before putting him back down so they could add new solution. They had to wake the sleepers to ensure the solution had been adequately purged. But the waking process was very taxing; many who were put in cryosleep never came out of it. Again, I’m simply repeating the stories our childhood teachers taught us. Mortality estimates range as high as forty-five percent. Their bodies couldn’t handle the strain of waking. Those who successfully woke invariably needed medical attention. Medical personnel at the time were aware of this problem; for that reason they staggered the entry of people into cryosleep so as not to overwhelm the facilities two years down the road. Everyone remember those stories?”

 

   The crew nodded. Everyone, that is, except Deader, who stared stoically ahead.

 

   “The problem,” Robon Mishiwaka went on, “is that it is all a lie.”

 

   No one responded.

 

   “There were two solutions put into cryosleepers. Both are very highly classified states secrets even today. One we still don’t know much about, though there has been headway recently into discovering its identity. The other we know now was Ethylene-Propacubane-3-Silocenlythryeoli-4,6,10, 24, 36-Isoluceceuzymyalineglutamyl. For obvious reasons, we—and the Alliance, I am certain—call it EPSI.”

 

   He motioned to another scientist, this one a balding middle-aged man with a paunch, who stepped forward. He wore an oversized white lab coat with electronic gadgetry bulging out of his chest pocket. The scientist gave them a short nod and said: “EPSI’s chemical structure is hyperstable. As far as we know—and we’ve been experimenting with it extensively for a decade now—its half-life is over half a trillion years.”

 

   “What does that mean?” demanded Jayne. “Not all of us have book-learnin’. Speak common sense.”

 

   Lenore put a hand on his elbow. “It means …” she began.

 

   “It means that the Alliance has been caught telling another _goram_ lie,” murmured Mal.

 

   “It means that the solution they put into the bodies of our descendants didn’t break down after two years. It means that they woke up the travelers from Earth-That-Was for other reasons,” said Deader.

 

   “Which means that the forty-five percent mortality rate wasn’t …”

 

   “… caused by EPSI,” finished Robon. “That is correct. Multiple tests have confirmed it.”

 

   “Could it have been caused by the other solution, the one you don’t know about?” asked Inara, who appeared as alarmed as anyone.

 

   Robon shook his head. “We don’t know. It’s possible, though very unlikely. The arks took decades to build. Scientists of the time had to have been quite confident with any chemical they planned on using on cryosleepers. Cryosleep, after all, wasn’t new by any means back then; many thousands of people had taken multiyear trips throughout Sol System by the twenty-fifth century. It’s all well-documented.”

 

   He held up, then continued. “We believe now that the people who died did so for other reasons. We estimate over eighteen million people were airlocked into interstellar space during the trip to this system. Some think it was closer to fifty million. We’ll never know, nor will we ever know why the decision was made to exterminate so many. We do know it wasn’t disease or some other existential threat. Ninety percent of the colony starships were sent into the various suns of this system after arriving and unloading their human cargo.”

 

   “As kids we were told that the arks had to be destroyed because …” began Inara.

 

   “Damage!” blurted Kaylee, who appeared horrified. “Damage from the Oort cloud of this system!”

 

   Everyone nodded.

 

   “We know now that to be a lie as well,” said the balding scientist. “The arks were destroyed because they didn’t want the populace to learn the truth. The few colony vessels that were saved were gutted and ‘wiped down,’ so to speak, including this one. This was one of the smallest arks, as are those in orbit above Londinium with it. The truly large carriers dwarfed this one. Some were over a hundred times larger. They are all gone.”

 

   “That is not all,” said the assassin, stepping forward. “The greatest lie we have yet to share with you. Come.”

 

   He glanced at Mal. “Please.”

 

   Mal and his crew followed Robon out of the room.

 

   “We aren’t far,” Robon said, walking quickly.

 

   “Why is it that my gut is tellin’ me nothin’ good can come of this _shee-niou_ job?” spat Jayne.

 

   “Does Badger know all this?” demanded Mal, who was just a pace behind the assassin.

 

   Robon nodded. “He knows it all.”

 

   They came upon a large airlock.

 

   “Mishiwaka,” said Robon.

 

   The big circular door opened. The group stepped through. Another woman in a lab coat gave them a curt nod. “This way,” she said.

 

   “I’ve always wanted to take a tour of an ark,” commented Kaylee with awe in her voice. She’d taken Simon’s hand. River, walking next to him, and who had been silent the entire time, said, “Old-style fusion. This was once part of the engine room.”

 

   The view beyond the glass was impressive. Most of it was filled with star-filled space where great engines once were. Jutting out high above them was the top of the _Sri Lanka_. Tremendous supports held on to nothing up there. They were so large that the people in spacesuits working on them appeared no larger than fleas from here.

 

   “Old-style fusion, that is correct,” said Robon, glancing at her in anticipation.

 

   Still gazing up, River said, “Thrust…. Not enough thrust.”

 

   Her eyes grew wide.

 

   “River, what is it?” said Simon, staring at her with concern.

 

   But she was still gawking up.

 

   “You suspected it all along, didn’t you?” said Robon, smiling.

 

   “Not until you brought us in here,” replied River.

 

   “Enough with the mind readin’,” said Jayne. “You wanna fill the rest of us in already?”

 

   Robon looked away from River to the rest of the group. He opened his mouth, but Lenore interrupted him.

 

   “If I may, Robon Mishiwaka, Earth-That-Was is eighteen-point-eight-eight-nine light-years distant. To make the journey at half the speed of light would require, therefore, over thirty-seven years to complete, not including acceleration and deceleration, both of which would, conservatively, take several years apiece. I have been working on reading human faces. It is my conjecture that my friend River feels that given the size of this vessel and the engine compartment, that this starship could not have had sufficient thrust to achieve that speed.”

 

   Jayne couldn’t have understood a thing she said. Still, he smiled in a very proud way. His smile dissolved; he crossed his arms and nodded in agreement. “That’s … that’s right.”

 

   Robon nodded. “That is correct. This colony starship was one of the smaller ones, not to mention one of the fastest. We know as well that it never got above zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one-nine _c_. We also know that the _Sri Lanka_ was one of the first arks to arrive at this system, almost one hundred fifty years ahead of the last one—”

 

   “Ninety-nine thousand four hundred fifteen point seven-eight-nine …” whispered River. Awe had emptied the color from her cheeks. _“Years.”_

 

   The assassin’s smile was grim. “You’re beginning to understand.”

 

   Mal understood. So, judging from their slack jaws, did Kaylee, Inara, and Zoe. Deader, whose face remained stoic, nodded gravely.

 

   “The official story is this: the arks took two generations to make the trip—slightly more than fifty years. Several worlds of this system, Londinium below us being one, were habitable for human life. It is Londinium that humanity waited on before colonizing the Rim worlds, all of which required terraforming. We were told that terraforming those worlds required another generation.”

 

   He took a long, slow look around at them all. “Lies,” he said. “Monstrous lies. The trip from Earth took almost one hundred thousand years. Terraforming the Rim worlds for simple habitation took not one generation, but closer to one hundred, and still isn’t finished on many of them. This isn’t the twenty-sixth century. It’s actually the one thousand fifty-ninth century. This is the year 105,953 anno Domini.”

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**


	10. Dolls and Fru-frufery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to go on after hearing such earth-shaking news? You go on, that's how! So the crew of Serenity does. Planetfall on Londinium is coming, and they are too busy making preparations to think on the Great Lie overmuch. Read on!

**“Captain?”**

 

   “Down here.”

 

   “May I?”

 

   Mal gazed up. This was a first: Simon asking to come down into his quarters.

 

   “Sure.”

 

   Simon descended the ladder. “I’ve got a shot for you.”

 

   “Why not wait till I get up to you? I was just about to head there.”

 

   “I wanted to talk to you.”

 

   Mal waited. The good doctor looked uncomfortable.

 

   “I guess I wanted to tell you … thank you.”

 

   “For what?”

 

   Simon’s smile fought to flower. It ended up being brief and sideways. “For … everything, I suppose.”

 

   Mal finished buttoning up his shirt and tucking it in. “You’ve been a member of my crew for years now, Doc. Thanks aren’t necessary. You do your job and that’s enough.”

 

   Simon shook his head. “It isn’t.”

 

   Mal, puzzled, approached and gave his shoulder a clap. “What’s this about? Here …” He rolled up his sleeve.

 

   Simon nodded, clearly frustrated, and pulled out a hypodermic syringe. He pulled the cap off with his teeth and poked it into Mal’s arm and pressed the yellow-brown liquid into his vein, then jerked it out and recapped the needle.

 

   Mal studied him. “It’s been my experience that folks who think their end might be comin’ get all sorts of grateful. Is that you?”

 

   Simon stared for a moment, then shook his head. “I … don’t know. Probably. War is coming and we’re about to break atmo on Londinium …”

 

   He held up. “You know, for a long time I was sure you hated me.”

 

   “I did hate you.”

 

   “And yet you never gave up on me or River. That is a rare gift, Captain. Thank you.”

 

   “I try to judge folks on their usefulness rather than on my personal feelings for them. I’m not a man to be too proud—I try not to be, anyway—so let me say this: my personal feelings about you and your sister were … well, they weren’t … entirely … right. I’m sorry about that. Now … is there anything else?”

 

   “Yes,” said Simon. “That shot was the last one before the one we’ll get after landing. We should be good to go in a day or so once the nanobots assimilate. I tweaked them; they’ll make us both acceptable and forgettable.”

 

   “Sounds like a few dates I had back in the day,” grumbled Mal, walking past him to the ladder.

 

   “Doesn’t it bother you, Captain?”

 

   Mal held up. “Doesn’t what bother me?”

 

   “The lie. _The_ lie. All the crap the Alliance has kept hidden from … everybody.”

 

   Mal shook his head. “Want to know what bothers me?”

 

   Simon waited.

 

   “What bothers me is that if the Alliance suddenly decided to get honest and tell everyone that it isn’t the twenty-sixth century but the one thousand whateverth century, the cattle that make up most of humanity would still defend that lie rather than riot in the streets. _That’s_ what bothers me.”

 

   He grabbed a rung and ascended angrily up and out of sight.

 

   Simon sighed and followed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Technicians arrived each morning by nine, blue coveralls on and toolboxes in hand. It had been ten days now, and they still had three to go. Robon Mishiwaka personally supervised them. He generally showed up by fourteen hundred to inspect their work, which he did annoyingly carefully.

 

   Their job? To rid _Serenity_ of its Alliance nanobot infestation and reinforce the hull with Independence bots, which would not only protect against future infestations (especially the big one coming with them landing on Londinium), but strengthen her over time.

 

   Mal watched all of this closely. He was nowhere near a state of trust with the former assassin. Coupled with the love he had for his boat and the desire to protect her, it made him a man unwilling to let anything be done to her without his full knowledge if not active participation.

 

   Workers had hauled in padded crates, stacking them five high in _Serenity_ ’s cargo bay. Zoe opened one with the assassin and Mal watching.

 

   Mal reached into the shredded paper and picked up—

 

   “Dolls?”

 

   He studied the one in his grip.

 

   “Bone china,” said Robon Mishiwaka, who came up behind Zoe. “Handcrafted on Constance and half a dozen other Rim worlds. They are known as ‘Companions.’ The one in your fist is worth sixteen hundred credits. Londiniumites are crazy about them. The clothing is hand-sewn.”

 

   “By indentured folk, right?” said Mal.

 

   The assassin smiled coldly. “Would you expect anything else?”

 

   “I suppose these are given to children,” said Zoe, staring in the crate with disgust.

 

   “I do not know. Does it matter?” answered Robon.

 

   “I suppose it doesn’t,” she murmured. She gazed at Mal. “So this is how we pass customs on the surface?”

 

   He glanced at Robon, who nodded. “Badger secured these. There are fifteen thousand in your bay, Captain. They are tagged so that when they are bought the funds are diverted through a laundering process to an Independence bank account. We’ve been moving them over a year now. It has partially funded our operation.”

 

   The irony—“Companion” dolls funding the Independence—wasn’t lost on Mal or Zoe. Both chuckled darkly.

 

   “Speaking of Companions, Malcolm, do you know where Ms. Sera is? I need to speak to her.”

 

   “If ‘Ms. Sera’ isn’t in her shuttle, she’s on the _Sri Lanka_ ,” said Mal. “I realize it’s a silly question before I even ask it, but is there trouble?”

 

   “A high-ranking woman named Clarissa Ramudy is raising quite a commotion about her disappearance from Bellerophon. System sheriffs are on alert to board all outgoing vessels the day Ms. Sera was ‘kidnapped.’ We’ve been ordered to hold _Serenity_ until it can be inspected, which should be—” he glanced at his watch—“within the hour. I want to inform her of what’s going on.”

 

   Mal blinked. “ _What?_ Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

 

   The assassin shrugged and smiled. “Because there was no need to.”

 

   “You’ve infiltrated Londinium’s _orbital_ _sheriffs?_ ” asked Zoe, astounded.

 

   “We’ve been at this for some time,” said Robon. “There are, believe it or not, a few wealthy Londiniumites opposed to what the Allied Planetary Government is doing and what is has become. Through their assistance we have made significant strides inserting ourselves in key positions within Parliament, the House of Lords, police, military, and several high-tech corporations. None of it is at a level that is satisfactory, to be sure, but in this case it should be enough.”

 

   At that moment his comm beeped.

 

   “Yes?” he asked.

 

   “Sir, the sheriff and his deputy are here to inspect _Serenity_.”

 

   He glanced at Mal. “They’re early. Send them in.”

 

   A moment later a hard knock sounded against the hatch. Jayne, who’d been listening to the conversation from his weight bench, rose and went to the hatch and opened it.

 

   A lawman entered, as did a woman, also wearing a badge.

 

   The man glanced at Mal and grinned as he walked towards him.

 

   “Looks like you’re still trying to do the right thing, Mr. Reynolds. Good to see you again.”

 

   “I’ll be damned,” muttered Mal. Zoe smiled.

 

   It was Sheriff Bourne from Paradiso, and his wife!

 

   The sheriff extended his hand, and Mal took it. His wife came around, and she and Zoe shook hands.

 

   “Forgive me,” said Mal, “but how in Hannah’s Hell did you manage…?”

 

   “To get off Paradiso?” said Sheriff Bourne.

 

   Mal waited. Bourne’s wife came around and introduced herself to Jayne, whose gentlemanly training by Lenore paid off: he stood up straight, hurriedly wiped the sweat off his hand with the towel hanging over the bench, took her hand, and said, “Ma’am. Welcome to our ship.”

 

   Bourne motioned with his head towards Robon. “Mr. Mishiwaka’s craft caught fire over Paradiso, as in we could see it comin’ straight down in broad daylight. The damage from that orbital firefight with the Reavers really did a number on his vessel. After a bit of wheelin’ and dealin’, he managed to get us off that rock. We owe him our lives.”

 

   “He didn’t have a vessel,” said Mal. “He came down in an escape pod, and on a world nowhere near Regina.”

 

   “That’s right,” said Robon. “Alliance rescued me, if you’ll recall. They wanted to question me as I recovered from our … confrontation.” He nodded deferentially. “I knew quite well what that meant. Despite having significant injuries, I overpowered the guards and escaped in an Alliance skyfighter. It was damaged in the subsequent firefight. I lost nav control as I entered Regina’s orbit. When I woke up I found myself looking up at Sheriff Bourne. He kept me hidden in the mines, and with his wife and the miners helped me recover from my burns and injuries. I owe them my life, not the other way around. You saw me not long after I left there. _Serenity_ was nearly ready for spaceflight after all your repairs on her.”

 

   He gazed gratefully in their direction. Sheriff Bourne’s wife smiled back.

 

   “My name is Alicia, by the way,” she told everyone.

 

   “Yun medicine cured her and me of Boden’s Malady, and kept Mr. Mishiwaka from contracting it,” Bourne said. “That damn disease has been wiped out on Regina. It’s how we got out of that hellhole. An Independence ship fresh from Lichungyun sent medicine down to us and let me and my wife grab a corner aboard it. Turns out Boden’s Malady was concocted by Alliance Defense as a means to quarantine folks once they committed to that awful life. The miners, when they found out, took to the streets. To keep it quiet the Allied Planets paid ‘em off, put everybody under a confidentiality agreement, and let them vote their own new sheriff in. Now they’re about to go in there and take away their hard-won freedom so that the snoots beneath us get fresh fruit in the morning.”

 

   “Should I be surprised about any of this?” grumbled Mal.

 

   “Is there anything that government does that’s _good?_ ” demanded Zoe.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clothes came next. They arrived in three crates, these ones long, and had been hand-tailored to each of the crew. Days earlier they had submitted to measuring by Independents on the _Sri Lanka_.

 

   “This could go, oh, a million times faster if a _goram_ computer was doing the job,” Mal groused as a woman worked a tape measure around him.

 

   “Have you ever heard of the Human Movement?” asked Robon, watching from the side.

 

   “What, is that some sorta bowel movement?” asked Jayne, his arms raised as another woman took tape measurements of his chest and waist.

 

   Robon smirked. So did Mal. Simon, being measured up as well, chuckled.

 

   “The Human Movement stresses human creativity and work in opposition to computers or automation. It doesn’t condemn either; it merely believes in utilizing both to a much lesser degree. A _sane_ degree. It’s a generalization, but given the choice between human labor and computer automation, human labor should prevail, and should be paid at minimum a living wage for the work. That’s the Human Movement in a nutshell.”

 

   “I suppose that’s Yun-inspired as well?” said Mal.

 

   Robon shook his head. “It’s Independence-inspired. You, Captain, should be its biggest supporter. You were raised on a ranch. You worked with your hands, and I’m guessing you enjoyed it and grew from it. I’d also guess that the ranch was minimally automated, if at all.”

 

   “Not at all, actually,” said Mal.

 

   “The people you know: the people on the Rim. They utilize very little automation, correct?”

 

   Jayne grunted. “They can’t afford it.”

 

   “Human labor taken to one extreme is slavery. But the other extreme—complete automation—is also slavery. There is a satisfactory middle that doesn’t enslave people but sets them free. I’m willing to guess you believe that, Malcolm.”

 

   “Because you read my psych profile?”

 

   The assassin smiled. “Of course. But there are many things a psych profile cannot tell about a human being, especially one as much a pain in the ass as you are.”

 

   “I do my best,” murmured Mal.

 

 

 

 

 

 

At Kaylee’s insistence, they had a “dinner dress party” on _Serenity_ while plans to break atmo were still being finalized. Without asking Mal, she took the liberty to invite Robon and several other _Sri Lanka_ scientists, all of whom accepted. (He wouldn’t have told her no; still, he was upset that he didn’t get a chance to grump about it and generally make her uncomfortable for asking.)

 

   Fresh food had just arrived from the surface, and Deader was keen to cook everybody a “nice sit-down dinner. A _real_ one. Which means dressin’ like ladies and gentlemen, y’hear?”

 

   She fired a stern glance Mal’s way, then one towards Jayne, who said, “Don’t worry about me. If you’re cookin’, Granny, I’ll wear my Sunday best.”

 

   “That’s what I like to hear.”

 

   “Do you need help?” asked Kaylee enthusiastically.

 

   “Maybe with helpin’ me get things ready, lambchops,” Deader smiled in a very grandmotherly way. “But then I want to see you in your Londinium finery!”

 

   Even Inara got new duds, though not a whole wardrobe full of them as the others had. No one had to ask why. Still, she got measured up. When Mal walked in on her an hour before dinner, he stopped in his tracks. She was in a white and purple gown and looked …

 

   “Whoa,” he breathed, unaware he had spoken.

 

   She smiled. “Captain … may I do something for you?”

 

   Her new short hairdo made her dark eyes even more attention-grabbing than before. The gown wasn’t “standard” for Companions, and after he got his voice back, he mentioned it.

 

   “I am no longer a Companion,” she said plainly. “I thought I might try a little more fru-frufery, like Kaylee. What do you think?”

 

   She turned in place and came to a stop and waited.

 

   When he couldn’t answer, she grinned. “That is answer enough,” she said softly, walking by him. “Thank you, Captain.”

 

   He tried, he really did, not to stare at her at dinner, which, he had to admit (very grudgingly), went very well. She caught him several times, and each time looked away, smiling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The day came to depart for the surface. It almost didn’t seem strange to Mal that Robon was with them. He had been so omnipresent these past two weeks that it almost felt like he was part of the crew.

 

   He’d caught him taking furtive glances at Zoe, especially at the party, where she had dressed in a ravishing black get-up.

 

   Just before giving Deader the word to release docking clamps and set course to break atmo, and while checking over the cargo one more time (no one else was in the bay), he broached the topic with him.

 

   “She’s still in mourning, you know.”

 

   Robon, securing a crate, righted himself and turned. They stared at each other for a long moment.

 

   (Always sizing each other up in case it came to trying to break the other’s neck, Mal considered as he waited.)

 

   “I’m surprised she doesn’t blame me for her husband’s death,” Robon said. “But she doesn’t. I asked. She is a remarkable woman, Zoe.”

 

   Mal had never felt the need to protect her, and so the desire to do so now surprised him.

 

   “I don’t like the way you look at her.”

 

   Robon grinned. “Her loyalty to you is inspiring.”

 

   “She’s loyal to this boat, not me,” retorted Mal.

 

   “If you wish,” said Robon. When the silence between them grew tense (tens _er_ ), he said, “Is there anything else you wish to discuss, Captain?”

 

   Mal went to warn him away, then thought better of it. He wanted to punch that _da-shiang bao-tza shr duh lah doo-tze_ of a grin still on his face, and he knew Mishiwaka knew that, so he grumbled, “We’re breaking atmo in an hour,” and marched away.

 

   The assassin stared after him as he climbed the stairs leading to the bridge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nightfall, Londinium.

 

   _Serenity_ plowed into the atmosphere of the core world of the Core, falling like a meteor.

 

 **~~*~~**  
**[Shawn Michel de Montaigne](http://shawn-michel-de-montaigne.site123.me/)**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find the new Part here >>http://archiveofourown.org/works/9301184/chapters/21081896

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I will post new chapters when this work, cumulatively, passes 1,000 views. In the meantime, please drop by my blog--ShawnMicheldeMontaigne.blogspot.com--for excerpts of original works, illustrations, more fan fiction, and really cool fractals! I'll see you there!


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